Deal With A Devil
by Diane Langley
Summary: Ginny Weasley knew better than to listen to Draco Malfoy. He was trouble, and she knew it. It didn't matter how handsome he was or how wickedly his eyes looked at her. Dealing with him was like dealing with... well, a devil!
1. Chapter 1

"Wait…_how_ much?" Ginny Weasley's jaw was hanging open. She knew she shouldn't have let him in here. Actually, thinking about it, she hadn't let him in here. He had asked if he could come in, she had said no, and he had come in anyway. Thinking about more, she realized that this was the only thing she had contributed to the conversation besides demands that he leave. He obviously had noticed the same thing because he was smirking at her, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees.

He told her the amount again.

Her jaw dropped again.

"You're kidding me. You've got to be," she half-stammered this statement, and he shook his head coolly. "Bloody hell, you're not kidding me?"

"No, Miss Weasley, I am not kidding you," he was looking at her as if she were a bit dense, but he didn't betray any signs of joking. "My friends are not the sort to dally around,"

"I guess not,"

Draco Malfoy had walked into her office to inform her that his friends had bet her an obscene amount of money that he couldn't nail her. As if this wasn't shocking enough, here she was, actually thinking about the situation. It had to be leftover hormones from her teenage years or something.

Ginevra Weasley had not had a good year; being twenty-five was not all it was cracked up to be. Her job was deadbeat (just a pretty face to file paperwork for the Ministry of Magic), her love life nonexistent, and her friendships dissolved into vindictive, bitter spats. She supposed the beginning of all this had been the day she and Ron had discovered that Harry and Hermione were getting it on after hours. Apparently, Aurors and nurses had an animal attraction for one another that "could not be ignored". Ron had been heartbroken; Ginny, however, had been murderous. She had gone after Harry with a metal spatula and her bare hands, offering to perform surgery on him that would involve her reaching down his throat and pulling out his testicles that way. Yes, she had been a not so happy camper.

Anyway, it had been a while since then, but she couldn't honestly say that anything had been peachy. Things had been pretty down and irritating, and this wasn't a sign that things were looking up. After all, people making bets regarding the potential sordid affairs of you and your enemies was not a positive thing. She looked at her enemy for a moment.

He was sitting on the leather chair across from her desk with a look of absolute calm on his face as he looked at her. His blue eyes were so pale that they appeared grey, bright and intriguing in the pale set of his chiseled features, with a strong jaw and classic profile. His hair was still blonde but it had darkened once his teenage years had passed, and he was tall, long legs resting demurely in front of him. He was the picture of poise; the extremely attractive picture of poise.

_Why didn't I invest in ugly enemies?_ She thought forlornly, twisting a lock of red hair. _Instead I pick enemies that are hotter than any of my boyfriends, my boyfriends, who are cheating scum, who sleep with women who aren't as pretty as me._

"Are you planning on giving me an answer? I could have been underhanded and tried to seduce you, but instead, I'm offering this to you as a business endeavor," he informed her in a voice as smooth and cool as Italian silk. She frowned.

"I shouldn't even have to answer you. Of course the answer is no," she replied even as her mind screamed, _A third party is willing to pay huge money for you to have sex with a gorgeous man, and you're saying no?_

"I should have known, but I was hoping your answer would be yes. I'm being more than fair about this,"

"Sex isn't about fairness!" She replied, tossing her hands up in disbelief. "It's about…well, it's sex!"

"I know what sex is," Draco echoed, raising an eyebrow as if he was no seeing his point. She watched his lithe fingers drum lazily on his knee, imagined catching hold of those oh-so-capable looking fingers, and thought, _I bet you do._

What she said aloud was, "I'm not going to have sex with you so that you can win some bet,"

"How are you going to have sex with me?" His look was sly.

"I'm not!" She smacked her hand against the polished mahogany of her desk.

"Would you like to go out to dinner with me tonight?"

"I'm not going to have sex with- Wait, what?"

He repeated himself.

"Dinner? What, so you can try to seduce me?"

"Perhaps, but you know exactly what I'll be trying to do, so you can defend yourself. Look, Miss Weasley, I have one month to win this bet. They're giving me a month. Why don't you do the same thing? If the month ends and I haven't gotten a shag, then the end, no hard feelings. If the month ends and I have shagged you, we're both a little richer. It's a heavenly deal,"

"Heavenly deals don't exist with the devil," she muttered darkly, hazel eyes narrowed.

"I think you are giving me a bit too much credit. I'm hardly the devil,"

"No, you're worse. You're a Malfoy," There was a pause where their eyes met. Ginny imagined evil music playing. Any second now he was going to start "Muhuhahaha"ing.

He seemed to think differently. Instead, Draco stood up, stretching out his legs and rolling his shoulders once as if they were kinked. "So, I will see you tonight at Kniltholder's?"

Her jaw dropped again; Kniltholder's was a staggeringly expensive restaurant where the wizarding world's rich, famous, and influential liked to go to play. Anyone who went to Kniltholder's on a regular night was in no need of money. "Why exactly did you take this bet again?"

"It's a matter of pride, Miss Weasley. I will see you around eight,"

He stepped out of her office, and she sagged in her chair, dropping her face into her hands. She couldn't believe she was considering this. This was the most ridiculous thing ever. _And to think, I'm the normal one in my family._

X

Ginny went to The Burrow once a week, one of Mum's rules. Right now, it was the last place in the world she wanted to be because who should be there but Harry the Harlot and Hermione the Whore. Ron, who was now dating some lovely sweetheart named Miranda, had forgiven them almost completely, and he just let them come over _as if nothing was wrong_. She thought it was pretty disrespectful of her feelings, but she just dealt with it. Right now, in ripped hose and a wrinkled skirt and generally disgruntled mood, they seemed even worse than usual.

Ron was sitting on the armchair, so Ginny had been forced to take a seat on the couch beside the lovebirds while her mum went to get tea. Harry was wrapped around Hermione, who was half on his lap. It was gross.

"Rough day, Gin?" Harry was trying out sympathy. She shot him a vicious look.

"Look like hell, do I, Potter?" Her voice was a bit venomous in its sarcasm, and he shook his head, obviously deciding that had not been the best of attempts to be friendly.

"You just look tired," Ron placated, but Ginny instead tucked away Harry's words to fan her personal flame of bitterness in moments where it seemed like it might go out. Molly Weasley stepped back into the room, tea tray floating in front of her, and she distributed a cup to each person before sitting down on the ottoman in front of Ron.

"How was your day, Ginny?" Molly asked kindly, a touch of empathy affected into her tone. Ginny watched her mother's eyes take in her messy appearance with mild disapproval.

"Look like hell, do I, Mum?"

Molly looked a little shocked, swallowing sharply and raising an eyebrow.

"Merlin's beard, do you have to be so grouchy?" Ron looked annoyed now. Ginny figured this meant that Miranda was coming. He always liked to pretend that the Weasleys were normal when Miranda was coming.

"Maybe she's PMSing," This announcement came from across the room, and they all looked up to see Fred and George walking through the living room door. "Fred acts that way when he's PMSing,"

"You're a wanker," Fred replied, bumping his shoulder against George's. They both laughed, and even Ginny, in her current funk, had to smile. It was little wonder they ran such a successful joke shop; they were hilarious. Ginny adored them because they never got on her case about being pissed off. They just made her smile instead.

"No, she's not PMSing. She just got off her period last week," Molly said, and Ginny turned to look at her.

"Oh, that would explain why she was a real bitch during dinner last Friday," Fred said, winking at her. Ginny narrowed her eyes at him and thought, _You are not helping, Stinky._

"Hard to be cheery when you're menstruating," Hermione added, suddenly feeling like contributing to the conversation. This earned her a nasty look from her ex-friend.

"That is a serious invasion of privacy," Ginny announced loudly. "_You all_ are a serious invasion of privacy,"

"Inside voice, Ginny," Molly observed, taking a sip of her tea. A silence descended, and Ginny watched Ron glance towards the empty fireplace, obviously hoping that Miranda would appear in this moment of quiet instead of an argument over his sister's menstrual cycle.

"Seems to me that we have put little Ginny in a bad mood. We truly are a sadistic bunch," George leaned over and slung an arm over her shoulders. "Why are we picking on you tonight, Gin? Fred and I missed the beginning. How'd you open yourself up as the butt of our family's humor?"

Ginny looked around the room, at her mother who was looking at her with mild concern, at the twins who were grinning and looking for any excuse to tease people, at Ron, who was trying to make things perfect for his girlfriend, and at her ex-boyfriend who was feeling up Hermione the Whore's leg while he thought no one was looking. She grinned.

"They're just upset that I have a date with Draco Malfoy tonight," she purred, rising to her feet and shrugging off George's arm.

She Disapparated before she could even fully appreciate the six dropped jaws around her.

X

Ginny looked in the steamed-up mirror at her reflection with a frown. She had no idea what she was doing. She didn't have anything to wear to Kniltholder's. It was _Kniltholder's_! It wasn't like she could throw on something casual and go eat a burger. When eating at that place, she was going to have to know which fork to use! Sometimes, in her apartment, she ate with a spoon because she couldn't find a fork! She had no business going to Kniltholder's!

Trailing her fingers through some of her soaking wet red hair, she let her panicky thoughts race over who she was going to dinner with. Draco Malfoy. She had seen him on the cover of a magazine lately; it had been a sort of 'Look at hot, rich British bachelors' issue, but still, he had been the _cover_. He had looked good, too. At the time, she had been frowning and thinking that he was smarmy bastard who didn't deserve the coverage, but after being within a few feet of him this afternoon, she knew that he wasn't all hype. He had a… a definite flair. She let out a sigh. Flair was just one word for it.

_Sexy as hell is another,_ her mind added.

She walked into her bedroom, wearing her towel and flipped through the clothes in her closet. She didn't have anything she could wear out to dinner at Kniltholder's with Draco Malfoy. She was a loony for thinking she could pull this off; the only reason she was doing this was because she had wanted to shock her family because they were pissing her off. That was all.

_And because I wouldn't mind spending an evening with Draco Malfoy trying everything he has to seduce me, _she thought to herself wickedly.

Holding out a bright green dress that looked like it belonged at a summer picnic, she groaned. The selection in here, in _her_ closet, was pathetic. She shook her head.

"Who am I kidding? I don't have anything to wear," she muttered, plopping down in her towel on the bed ungracefully. She heard a Pop!, and suddenly, standing in front of her, was the devil himself. Her jaw dropped, and she screamed, a loud, earth-shattering type of scream.

"That's a very unbecoming sound, Ginevra," Draco Malfoy said calmly, blue eyes giving her an once-over, taking in her damp hair, her towel, and everything it didn't cover. Then those blue eyes gave her a twice-over, and then they did one better and made it a thrice-over. Her face turned the color of her hair as she let loose another scream.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOME? GET OUT!" She hollered, jumping to her feet as she gripped the top of the towel for stabilization. He was wearing a crisp, snow-white shirt that just looked expensive, and a tailored black blazer. His hair was neat, his expression cool, and even his shoes looked good. She was aware of the fact that she was sitting on her unmade bed in an old, ratty towel. He seemed to be aware of that, too.

"You keep telling me to get out. Have you considered working on your hospitality?"

"YOU SAID EIGHT O'CLOCK AT THE RESTAURANT!"

"I said no such thing. I said I would see you around eight o'clock. It's seven-thirty. Close enough," he shrugged his shoulders, and she glared daggers at him.

"Get out of my room and my house, and I will be at the restaurant eventually," she tried a calm tactic. He smiled but seemed unmoved by her attempt at sounding rational.

"They won't let you in without me," he mused lazily, walking over to her closet. He began to skim his fingers over the clothes there, occasionally lingering on a particular fabric.

"Then meet me outside!"

"I'm not standing outside waiting for you. Get dressed, and we'll go now," There was a long silence, and he looked at her curiously, obviously wondering why she wasn't replying. She tugged at a lock of red hair and looked away.

"Do you not want to get dressed?" He asked patronizingly, and she frowned at him. A corner of his mouth lifted slyly. "I'm fully supportive of that idea, but it seems a bit uncharacteristic,"

"I don't have anything to wear," she muttered finally, barely audible.

"Come again," He smirked at her.

"I don't have anything to wear," she repeated a little louder. He grinned with a sort of twisted satisfaction. _You are a smarmy bastard,_ she insulted him telepathically as she had when she had seen him on the cover of that magazine.

"I'm glad you admit it. I was just noticing that your closet was lacking in Kniltholder's style of dress. Put something on for now. We'll go get you something to wear,"

"You'll buy me something to wear?" Her jaw dropped.

"Of course I will. I'm not a stingy person," he pretended to look shocked at her surprise.

She blinked at him several times, looking like a startled toad, before standing up. She opened a drawer and grabbed underwear and a bra, hiding them from his view, before walking to the closet. Just to be difficult, she grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt before ducking into the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later, dressed. Her hair was dry, but not exactly done; it was in messy curls and waves. One curl bounced off her eye, and she pushed it away in frustration.

"Get out your wallet, buddy," she said darkly. "I'm going to break the bank,"

"Probably are," he echoed slowly.

"Oh, I definitely am. We're getting the most expensive dress there,"

"Fine with me,"

"You're taking the fact that you are about to be bankrupt very calmly,"

"I probably am. See, I failed to mention one little thing about your dress," He slipped a hand to her elbow, fingers wrapping surprisingly gently through the curve of her arm.

"What's that?" She muttered, disarmed by the gentle brush of skin on skin.

"I get to pick it out,"

X

"This one is lovely," he observed, holding up a slinky brown dress that left nothing to the imagination. She laughed openly at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah right. Then, after dinner, you can put me on the street corner and pass me off as a hooker,"

"Or I could take you home myself, and we'd both get paid,"

She rolled her eyes even as her thoughts said, _Good idea!_. She ignored her thoughts; they had a tendency to be impulsive.

She and Draco were in a clothing store that she would never have been let in without him. Even the employees were of higher class than she was, and they kept looking down their nose at her when they weren't absolutely drooling over Draco. They swooned every time he breathed, and all but bent over to kiss his butt when he spoke to them. Ginny couldn't decide whether to be disgruntled by their apparent disrespect towards her or not; after all, they had no way of knowing that she and Draco weren't really together, so they were just proving themselves as hussies. Classy hussies, but hussies nonetheless.

Even with the situation being less than ideal, Ginny did feel like a little girl who had been swept into a fairy tale, surrounded by all these beautiful dresses. Sure, Draco was the devil, not a prince, but the dresses were definitely princess-like. She picked up a blue one, admiring it, and she heard a sound of disapproval.

"If I wanted you to look like a nun, I would have taken you somewhere else," he placed his hand over hers and guided the dress back onto its hanger.

"It's elegant,"

"It's modest,"

"Modest is a good adjective,"

"Not in my vocabulary,"

They stared each other down, and finally, she grunted and walked over to another section to peruse the hundreds of "little black dresses". She was scrutinizing one when she heard a voice behind her.

"Try this one on,"

She turned to look, and Draco Malfoy was holding up a green dress, the exact jewel shade of a perfectly cut emerald. Her eyes lit up, and she grinned despite herself.

"Okay," she agreed with a nod, swooping over and taking it from him. The moment of eagerness faded as she approached one of the employees to ask to be let into a dressing room. The woman was a slim blonde with a surly, snobbish expression.

"May I try this on?" Ginny attempted to sound friendly. The woman didn't reply, just walked over to a dressing room and unlocked it with a little snort of derision.

"Well then," Ginny snorted back childishly as she stepped in and shut the door. Shedding her sweats and tee-shirt, she slid the dress on gently, careful not to look in the mirror until it was all positioned. She turned to look with a sense of anticipation, and when she did, her eyes widened. The halter-style fastenings made her shoulders and the hints of her collarbone look sensual, the fit of the dress made her curves look perfect, and it almost touched her knees, making it coy without being prudish in the least. She looked like a bombshell in it.

_The devil has damn good taste,_ she observed with a grin at her reflection.

"Do I get to see it?" She heard his voice outside the door, and she could already tell that he knew he'd picked a good one. She opened the door. He looked at her and smiled approvingly, wickedly.

"You look good in it. I bet you look better out of it. Why don't you let me in there to find out?"

"And to think I was just about to thank you,"

"Sarcasm is unflattering,"

"According to you, everything I do is un-something,"

"You are difficult. Do you realize that?"

"I've been told,"

"Draco…" A voice suddenly crooned at his elbow, and he turned to look at the employee who was speaking to him. Ginny took this as a moment to glance at the price tag dangling from her dress. She gulped. It cost more than she made in six months.

"--take it. Here's my card," Ginny saw him handing the woman his credit card, and she burst out.

"Wait!" She held out the tag for him to see. The women sniggered at her. He looked confused.

"What?" He asked.

"Look at the price!" She hissed. _Just don't freak out when you realize how much you almost spent!_ Her thoughts urged silently.

"I know how much it costs. I picked it out, remember?" He looked unfazed.

"Holy God! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" She gasped as he shooed the women off with his credit card.

"Should you really be talking to them while you're with me?" He teased.

"Guess not," she muttered, still feeling air-deprived. He reached down and grasped the price tag, tugging it off with strong fingers.

The dress was hers. It was the most expensive clothing article she had ever even tried on, let alone owned. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She _owed_ him. He had just bought her the most beautiful thing she owned. If she accepted this, it was a gift from the devil. She was sealing her fate. She wouldn't be able to just ditch him after this. Her conscience would never let her live it down. _You slimy weasel. You dirty ferret. This dress is an underhanded bid for my compliance…and so pretty on me…_

"No strings attached," he assured her with a sly smile.

"To hell you say," she put a hand to her head, massaging her temple. "Quick. Take me to Kniltholder's. I think my blood sugar's dropping,"

"You're just in awe of my generosity,"

"Whatever you say, Satan,"

X

Kniltholder's was stunning; it oozed charm and perfection from the very walls. Unlike the employees at the store, the waiters and the hostess treated her like she was a goddess. She knew it was just because she was with Draco Malfoy, but she didn't care. It made her feel radiant. She dipped her fork into her rice stuff that Draco had ordered for her (in Italian) and took a bite. So this was how the rich and famous and beautiful ate.

"This food is wonderful," she observed, swallowing her bite. Draco nodded noncommittally, sipping his White Russian. After a pause, she sighed gently. "Let's talk business,"

He raised an eyebrow. "Let's talk dirty," he countered, and she flushed crimson. As her imagination ran away with that, she frowned at him disapprovingly. He sighed, too. "Fine. Let's talk business."

"I'm willing to give you a month because I like eating good food and wearing pretty dresses and being envied," she said, twirling her fork in her rice. A few pieces ended up flinging onto the table. She just grinned bashfully. He shook his head.

"No. You're willing to give me a month because you want me,"

"Nope. Wrong,"

"So, I get a month. Does your family get to know?"

"Yep. They're the first to know. I like pissing them off,"

"Do we treat it like a normal relationship?"

"As normal as possible,"

"That means we should have sex tonight," he said with a cool grin. She laughed.

"Nice try, Lucifer,"

"Had to give it a shot,"

"So, we're dating now. For a month,"

"For sex,"

"For money,"

"For fun,"

They looked at each other, and he lifted the fork from her fingers, setting it on the table. "Let's shake on it, Miss Weasley,"

He extended his hand; she folded hers into it, sealing her fate, making her deal with the devil.

"I must say I didn't expect you to be so open to this plan. You do realize that for a month you're going to have to deal with being a part of my world," he commented, not letting go of her hand and looking absolute wicked. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders lightly.

"What can I say? I hear hell is nice this time of year."

X

Author's Note: Well, I must tell you all. This is what we call in the business: an impulse story. I had an idea, I started writing, and this came out. I'm not sure what it's going to amount to, but I enjoyed writing this first chapter. For the purposes of reviews, please tell me these two things:

1.) Should I stick with the focus on Ginny, or should it alternate chapter to chapter between Ginny and Draco?

2.) Do you mind the out of character way I am writing most of the characters? I'm not going to change it if you do, but I am curious to know. Let me point out, though, that is definitely deliberate.

Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

Knowing that a month of fancy dining, fun, and a freakin' gorgeous male lay ahead of her, Ginny Weasley walked into the office with a bounce in her step. It was with this bounce that she took a lovely little misstep and ended up with her the heel of her pretty brown mules cracked off and sitting on the floor beside the shoe. She stared at it for a few seconds before bending over to pick it up and stare at it. Sure, no big deal, but come on, what kind of way was that to start a day? It was not a good omen. Professor Trelawney would be spazzing out.

She moved into her cubicle awkward, leaning down three inches on her right side. As she sat there, trying to decide if she was going to super glue it or not, three female coworkers burst in. They were wearing identical suits except for the three different colors. Yellow, pink, and baby blue. Trish, Wendy, and Hannah. _Lord, help me,_ Ginny thought fervently as the loony women grinned at her.

_Oh yeah,_ she amended mentally with a sheepish grin. _God doesn't talk to Satanists._

"Ginny, we heard the news!" Trish announced, flinging herself onto Ginny's desk and knocking off a framed picture of her family. She didn't seem to notice.

"I can't believe it!" Wendy squealed. Hannah just nodded like a bobble-headed doll. Ginny grinned at them and shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, even though she did. Waving her hand in the air as if dismissing them, she couldn't help but sneak a bit of a smile. They gaped at her. Obviously they had expected her to spill her heart out to them about this, and now they weren't sure what to say.

"DRACO MALFOY IS THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE!" Hannah's voice ricocheted off the walls. Ginny was sure the Minister of Magic must have heard it two floors up in his office. She didn't even have to ask how the three of them knew about her one date with Draco Malfoy; if she had been constipated when she woke up this morning, she would have gotten here and found laxative on her desk. They were just that competent in their nosiness.

"Hannah, contain yourself," Trish chided before she whirled back to Ginny. "How did you get him? Can I have a friend of his? Can I have him on weekends?"

"With that man, I'd take sloppy seconds," Wendy remarked sagely.

"Hell, I'd take sloppy sevenths," Hannah added.

"Sloppy hundredths,"

"Sloppy thousandths,"

"Sloppy millionths,"

"SLOPPY TO THE INFINITY SO HA!" Hannah concluded loudly. Ginny shook her head.

"You guys are such five year olds. Besides," she added the last part quietly, a grin tilting upwards on her lips automatically. "Who says anything with him would be sloppy?"

The squeals that followed broke the sound barrier, and it took Ginny nearly twenty minutes to get them all shooed out and into their cubicles. She sagged into her desk as they did and thought about it. She was going to deal with this for a month. Every woman she encountered who knew was going to be dealing with her insane jealousy. A grin captured her lips. She could definitely deal with that. Oh hell yeah she could. First it had been The Boy Who Lived, and now it was THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE, at least according to Hannah.

Ginny thought of him standing in her apartment the day before, looking at her with those cool eyes, dressed perfectly, and she nibbled on her lower lip. She had to admit; she agreed with Hannah.

Just as her heart rate was settling and everything was returning to normal, filing paperwork and all sorts of other oh-so-exciting tasks, she heard someone enter her cubicle. She could practically feel a smirk searing a mark on her. She thought of Draco leaning in the doorway to her little office, and the air suddenly seemed to sizzle.

As her thoughts continued to run away, she managed to get out, in a teasing voice, "Seduction is not permitted at work,"

"What?" The voice of utter shock made her look up, and she squeaked. Not Draco. Oh hell. **Definitely** not Draco.

"Daddy?" She murmured weakly.

Arthur Weasley was glaring at her; she recognized the expression quite well. It was the same glare she used all the time. He dropped a fat folder full of papers onto the desk, eyes on hers. She gulped. _I have got to learn to just keep my mouth shut_,

"What are these for, Daddy?" She tried to sound innocent so that he would just leave and pretend that he had never heard her use the word 'seduction'.

"They need to be filed," he was sitting down. Oh shit. That didn't suggest that he was going to leave. His eyes were on hers now, boring into them, and she felt like he could read her thoughts. The image of she and Draco rolling around, tangled in Egyptian cotton sheets, came unbidden into her mind, and she turned beet red. _Please don't let him be reading that thought!_

"Ginevra Weasley, has someone been harassing you here in the workplace?" His voice was low, concerned, and very quiet. Her eyes widened, and try as she might, she couldn't fight the snort of laughter that burst from her lips. He frowned. "Then what…"

"Daddy, I'm twenty-five years old. I'm old enough to use the word 'seduction',"

"But who in bloody hell did you think you were talking to?" Ginny realized that her father had not been home when she was yesterday; somehow he must have managed to get in and out of The Burrow without hearing about any of it. She turned a shade of crimson, opened her mouth to speak, and…

"So, I'm fully supportive of us having sex right – Oh, hello, Arthur – here on your desk,"

Ginny didn't know what individual part of this whole situation was worse. Her boyfriend, who was only her boyfriend because he was trying to win a bet for shagging her and who also happened to be a sworn enemy of her family, had just walked in while she was having a discussion about harassment in the workplace with her father, and he had announced that he wanted not only to have sex with her, without any mention of protection or the sanctity of marriage, but that he wanted to do it in a public, professional setting. Oh, and to top things off, he had said hello to her father in the middle of this proposal.

She should have just gone home sick when she snapped the heel off of her shoe earlier.

Her father's face was turning a very violent shade of purple that was very unbecoming with his red hair, and the smug 'I'm the shit and I know it' look on Draco's face was getting smarmier by the moment. She realized they were both looking at her.

"Oh dear," she murmured weakly.

"Is that a yes?" Draco asked.

She dropped her head to the desk with a thud.

"So it's a no?" He tried again.

She flipped her middle finger in the air and heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Sorry, Daddy," she muttered, burying her face in paperwork about dragon dung and its applications to modern Herbology. _How appropriate,_ she thought. _Because I'm definitely in the shit._

X

"I don't want to talk to you," Ginny's voice was stubborn and harsh as she licked some mint chocolate chip ice cream off the cone. They were sitting outside an ice cream parlor at one of the quaint little tables under a bright red and white umbrella. He looked calm and unruffled, completely put together from head to toe. From her shoe with its broken heel to her disgruntled expression, she looked distinctly otherwise.

"I bought you ice cream," he feigned a wounded tone, and she kicked him squarely in the shin under the table. "Ow. You're a vindictive little bugger,"

"You did that on purpose!"

"What? Called you a vindictive little bugger? Yes, that was on purpose," He smirked at her. She looked at him murderously. "Okay, okay. I get it. No more public announcements about my intentions towards you,"

She let out a weak groan. "In front of my father. I can't believe you did it in front of my father. I hate you," she bit into her ice cream again. He continued to eat from his own cone, unfazed; she had been surprised when he ordered chocolate decadence. That sounded so…unlike him, for some reason. She tilted her head in mild amazement at the way he managed to eat an ice cream cone without getting ice cream on that perfect mouth. Her gaze followed the curve of his lips, the way a hint of his tongue or teeth would appear, touched with chocolate. Suddenly he leaned down to meet her gaze.

"Obviously you're not _that_ mad," he raised an eyebrow.

"I'm furious," she shot back, mentally slapping herself for admiring that mouth. Oh wow. That mouth. The things that she could do with that mouth. The things he could do with that mouth. The things they could do with that mouth. Oh wow.

"You are not. I think you like me,"

"I'm dating you. I'm supposed to pretend to like you,"

"I think you want me," His voice was husky, and she breathed in slowly, trying to stop the air from escaping her lungs. _He just wants to win that bet, but damn… _

"I think you're wrong,"

"I know I'm right," The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk, and he bit into his cone with a definitive crunch. After he swallowed, he went on. "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

"Huh?"

"That's an unattractive sound,"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Repeat the question,"

"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

"Where?"

"At my house,"

"Your house. Can you actually Apparate there?"

"I'll disable the anti-Apparation charm since you're coming,"

"Wow. I didn't know it was that easy to get into hell,"

"All you have to do is sin, and trust me, Ginevra," His voice dropped low, and her pulse shot up. "That won't be hard to do,"

_You are a walking sexual fantasy, you know that?_ She thought, but all she said was, "Ha. Yeah right! I'm coming for the food,"

"But you'll stay for the dessert,"

Silence lapsed over them then because she wasn't sure she could disagree with him without cracking a smile. After all, what was she supposed to say? 'Sorry, Draco, but I'm just not attracted to you'. Finally, she opted for a teasing tone,

"The dessert? What? I was planning on staying for the sex,"

She noted with satisfaction that she had left him at a pleasant loss for words.

X

"So, you're dating Draco Malfoy,"

Ginny could not believe her bad luck. She had decided to drop into the Leaky Cauldron to have one non-alcoholic drink before she went home; she had felt like a perfect angel, being good before she went to play with the devil. She could hang her halo on his horns when she got there. Who should she run into in the Leaky Cauldron, though, but Harry the Harlot?

Harry looked rough; his tie was undone, hanging around his shoulders, his hair its usual mess, and he had a hang-dog look that she recognized well. He and the Whore must be having a spat; Harry didn't handle spats well. For someone so brave and quick to jump in there and save the wizarding world, he ran from conflict quickly in his personal life. Ginny had no doubt that he was drinking to avoid going back to finish his fight with Hermione. After all, how fun could making up be with someone like Hermione? She had hair so bushy that it would have required a pair of hedge trimmers to manage.

_When did I become such a bitter, bitter woman?_ She wondered thoughtfully. Especially since she didn't look so gorgeous herself at the moment; her hair was in a messy bun, and she had pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a tee shirt before leaving the Ministry. She grinned broadly at Harry, though, as if she were a queen patronizing a servant.

"Yes, I'm dating him,"

"How could you do that to us, Gin?"

"Excuse me? Us?"

"Your family, your friends," Harry shrugged his shoulders. She laughed in his face, seeing a little tiny droplet of her spit land on his cheek. She didn't even feel the need to apologize.

"I'm afraid, Harry, that you don't fall into either of those categories," she said coolly, trying to hide her urge to grin at him. The times when she had truly been angry at him were long gone. Now she looked at him and saw how pathetic and awful and irritating he was. She saw everything she had once loved and could laugh at it because it was attached to all the things she could never love. He had cheated on her with Bush-head, for God's sake. If that wasn't enough to turn you off someone forever, she didn't know what was. If he had been with Hermione, he had practically been with Ron, which meant Ron had practically been with her! Harry had caused her brother to indirectly commit incest! And he dared to call himself a part of the family or a friend! What a nutcase!

"Ginny, I don't understand why you can't be more adult about all of this. You and I dated for a long time, and we had something very special, but I fell in love with Hermione and I had to follow my heart. I just wish you could be mature and accept that,"

She looked at him for a moment and wondered how he had become so disillusioned. Maybe it hadn't been healthy for him to grow up in a cupboard. He was totally inept with this whole social structure thing. She snorted out a laugh again.

"If you had been able to keep it in your pants, or if you had told me about your after-hours exercise, or shown even an ounce of maturity, perhaps I could have returned the favor," Her voice was still cold, and she applauded herself silently. Harry hated when people were cold. However, when he replied, there was the strangest hint of a triumphant smirk on his lips,

"When did you become so bitter and angry, Gin? Just because, at twenty-five, your life seems to be going _nowhere_ without me, is no reason to begrudge me my happy life."

He didn't. Oh dear God. He didn't. That was the cheapest of cheap shots. She felt a surge of white-hot anger sear across her skin, felt her cheeks turning the same color as her hair.

"You haven't seen anger yet, bitch," she growled, rising to her feet. The anger was so thick and heavy and awful and tangible that she wanted to… oh, she couldn't do exactly what she wanted to do, but…

She lifted her half-full butterbeer bottle into the air and threw it at the ground with tremendous force. It shattered with a sickening and satisfying crash. Silence seemed to descend over all the bar's patrons as Harry gaped at her in horror. She felt a sadistic, dangerous smile capture her lips.

"Ginny, stop!" His voice actually had raised in pitch, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she reached for his glass, taking it from his surprised hands. She lifted it up and threw it with another tremendous crash. The glass glittered on the floor in its puddle of amber liquid.

Like a woman possessed, which she probably was, Ginny took a step forward and picked up an abandoned bottle.

"This is for lying." SMASH! She grabbed another.

"This is for cheating," CRASH! And another.

"This is for betraying my brother," SMASH!

With long strides, she carried herself behind the bar, past the slack-jawed, gaping bartender, and grabbed a full bottle of firewhiskey. The red liquid fizzled and hissed and steamed against the inside of its bottle. She looked at it for a moment in all seriousness before turning to look at Harry. She held it up as one might do before a toast.

"And this, my dear Harry Potter, is for me," She hurled the bottle with every bit of force she could at the wall. It smashed in an explosion of glass, sparks, and smoke. Brushing her trembling hands together, she felt her anger dissolve as quickly as it had come on. She looked at the horrified but entranced faces all around her, the terror and shock on Harry's face, and the devastation she had caused.

She marched out of the bar on shaky legs and walked fast up the street until she was just outside of town.

_You've lost it now, Ginny-girl. You've gone utterly insane. You attempted to destroy a pub because Harry the Harlot accused you of having a pathetic life,_ she thought miserably as she leaned against a lamppost. _Letting him get to you, now that was pathetic._

She sighed deeply. Then it hit her. What she had just done was illegal. I-L-L-E-G-A-L. She tried not to panic and lose her already mostly lost mind as she drew her wand from her pocket.

She didn't even debate where to Apparate to as she lifted her wand and vanished.

_Impressive,_ she observed as she appeared on the lawn of the stately stone home. It rested at the crest of a grassy knoll, and it looked distinctly Draco Malfoy. She walked up the lawn gingerly, feeling a tremor through her legs. Perhaps destruction of property hadn't been the best idea she'd ever had. She felt that sadistic grin come back. _But damn, did it feel good._

Reaching the huge door, with a door knocker in the shape of a serpent, she gripped it tightly and smacked it resoundingly against the wood of the door. There was a long pause, and the door opened. Her breath seized tight in her lungs. Draco was wearing jeans and a button-down white shirt, sleeves rolled to just below his elbows and bottom completely untucked. She had never seen him dressed so casually, so relaxed, and she was certain nothing in the history of the earth had ever been so sexy.

"Hello," he greeted smoothly, calmly.

"The police are after me. I'm a fugitive," she blurted out. _Nice going,_ she chided silently and sarcastically.

"You know, if you wanted excitement, I could have provided it," he informed her, stepping out of the doorway to invite her in.

She accepted the unspoken invitation, and the door fell shut behind them.

X

"I'm in awe. Even I never threw a bottle of firewhiskey at Potter," Draco mused as he lounged his long body across his couch. She was seated on the loveseat opposite him, feet tucked beneath her. He looked like some kind of god lying there, except for the distinctly wicked look twinkling in those cool eyes. She saw him breathe, in and out, in and out.

_Breathing is officially going on my list of turn-ons,_ she smiled to herself.

"I didn't exactly throw it **at **him. More because of him," she amended. He waved a hand as if this were an unimportant detail.

"Don't correct me. I'm relishing the thought of you taking aim and throwing a bottle at his head. My fantasy, though, involves you spilling that whiskey on you, and then I walk over and catch hold of you where your skin is sizzling from the whiskey, then we kiss and not just your skin is sizzling…all this while Potter lies unconscious. It's a damn good thought,"

_It's a bloody wonderful thought._ She didn't say that; though from the look on his face, she suspected he knew exactly what she thinking. Her cheeks burned red, but he either didn't notice or pretended not to notice.

"Anyway, I should feed you before we talk sex. That's part of Seduction 101. You'll have to forgive me if I don't get it quite right,"

"You're doing just great," she mumbled under her breath, and he arched an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes. "What? I said 'I don't shag on the second date'."

He didn't call her a liar out loud, but his cool, oh-so-devilish eyes did as he headed for the kitchen, untucked shirt moving lightly against him. She was jealous of that lucky, lucky shirt, getting to touch against smooth skin. She sucked in a breath and laid the length of the loveseat, closing her eyes. Until this man walked into her office, she hadn't realized how much she had missed the distinct male-ness of having someone to go to at night. _You can't go to this guy at night! He's the devil. He's dangerous enough by day,_

The sensible side of her mind was losing leverage by the second, though.

"Are you coming in to eat dinner?" She looked up to see him looking at her expectantly. She nodded. He extended his hands to help her up, and when she folded her hands into his, she noticed the way they were smooth and slightly rough all at once. Maybe it was her imagination, or maybe his hands really did linger for a moment before they walked into the kitchen.

"Now, I don't usually eat in the kitchen with company, but I didn't want to sit at the big dining room table with you. I wanted to sit at the little kitchen table,"

It sounded silly until they sat down to eat, and then Ginny understood exactly why he had wanted that. Their knees brushed under the table; their fingers touched as they reached for bowls. His hand caught hers for a moment as he refilled her glass of wine. If they had been romantically inclined, the dinner would have been desperately romantic. Instead, it was a lusty wonderland (how bad would it be to drag him to his bedroom?), and Ginny spent every other moment reminding herself that she was not going to sleep with this man (no matter how much she wanted to). By the time they had cleaned up the kitchen together (he would look better soaked in water than these dishes), she was dizzy with suppressed desire.

"You have been quiet," he observed with a knowing smirk.

"I've been thinking," she told the half-truth as she watched the room spin. _It is unhealthy to go a year and a half without a relationship, _she decided silently as she gripped the edge of the countertop.

"Concentrating," he supplemented.

"On some things,"

"On the same things I've been concentrating on," He dried his hands on a towel.

"But I'm not going to act on them,"

"But I am," The husky note of his voice made her back up once as he stepped forward, and she shook her head.

"If you do it without my consent, it's rape!" She practically shouted, voice squeaking dramatically, as he advanced on her. She knew if he touched her, she would just melt against him, melt into it, and she would never be able to resist.

"Shhh," he caught her, pressed a finger to her lips, and slid his strong arms around her waist. She felt him draw her against him, and heat surged through her as their eyes locked. Sparks flew, stars collided, and the kitchen was on fire. She lost the ability to stand on her own as he bent to press his mouth to hers. Tilting up to him, she tumbled into the kiss, all fiery heat and raw desire and desperation. The seconds stretched on and on, as she wrapped her arms up around his neck, as she stretched to accept his kiss more fully. He tasted like the food they had just eaten and something else, something all his own. It made her even dizzier than she had been before.

He slipped back, and her lips were parted, her eyes snapping with the sizzle, and the words "Take me" were resting on her lips, begging to be let out.

He smirked at her, though she saw his eyes dancing with the reflection of her desire and alive with his own. "I enjoyed dinner, Miss Weasley," he said quietly. "I'm sorry you weren't interested in anything more, but I respect your decision, and I will see you tomorrow," He brushed the lightest of kisses across her cheek.

As he, as infuriatingly calm as usual, walked out of the room, she tried to think about Antarctica and knew that wasn't going to help. It was going to take something far better than that to cool her down when all she wanted was to truly heat up.

_CURSE CHASTITY!_ Her mind roared as she Disapparated.

X

Author's Note: Alright, I wanted to point out that this story is not exactly following the Harry Potter timeline. For the sake of writing an entertaining story, I am not dealing with Voldemort and all of those oh-so-dramatic issues. So if you want to fuss at me about that, please don't. Besides that… Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed, and I would love it if you reviewed again. Reading it is lovely; reading and reviewing it is spectacular!


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I have upped the rating on this story. There is a reason. If you do not want to read a story with the new rating, do not read this chapter. Thanks.

X

"So what is that?" Ginny leaned over to peer into the cauldron, which was filled to the brim with a fuchsia goop. She was seated on the edge of the desk, using the hundreds of papers scattered there as a cushion. George looked up at her with a look of distinct triumph while Fred stirred the goop in a circle. It clung oddly to the spoon before it sloughed off in wobbling, jelly-like clumps. It was actually quite sickening.

"This is the base ingredient for the power in our newest idea," George stated, dropping in another pinch of Snirklet Trimmings. The goop hissed, and Ginny leaned back in case the substance was toxic.

"It is serious stuff, stuff that we are never, ever putting on the market. It's far too dangerous," Fred passed the spoon over to George and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans.

Ginny had always loved the back room of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. With all its crazed half-finished concoctions and a supply of ingredients that more than rivaled Snape's private store, the back room looked like mad scientist's laboratory at its most insane. The twins hardly fit the bill of mad scientists, in jeans and tee-shirts, but Ginny knew better. They were often certifiably insane. Why else would they test their ShockTarts For Enemies, which actually carried electrical pulse, on themselves?

That, after all, was not a sign of great sanity.

"Why are you making it if you're not going to market it?" She asked, making a disgusted face as the goop made a noise that sounded distinctly like a belch.

"To prove that we can," Fred replied, staring at it as if it were the Holy Grail of goops. Which maybe it was. Ginny couldn't very well claim to be an expert on U.F.G.s, Unidentified Fuschia Goops. Silence descended.

"Prove that you can what?" Ginny prompted, pushing a lock of hair away from her face.

"Prove that we can make this stuff work. We'll tell you eventually, Gin. There's no point in rushing us. These things take time," George admonished, sounding oddly adult for a moment. All three of them seemed a bit shocked, and he grinned sheepishly. "I mean, leave me alone, butthead,"

"Much better," Fred exhaled with a grin of obvious relief. "If working on this stuff is going to make us serious, we'd better stop right now,"

"There'll be nothing serious about it if we make it work," George grinned wickedly, slapping the spoon against the edge of the cauldron to knock the sticky gunk back in.

"It'll be awesome,"

"Totally wicked,"

"Do you know what people would pay for this?"

"Do you know what the Ministry would do to us if they knew about this?"

"What the hell is this stuff?" Ginny interjected. She was starting to get concerned. She could envision it now, her troublesome brothers shipped off to Azkaban, slumped against the walls muttering sales pitches to other inmates.

"Soon, Ginny. Soon," They were both grinning wildly now. "Five minutes of sitting, and this stuff should be ready,"

"Until then, let's distract you with talk of something that interests you… what about Draco Malfoy?" Fred laughed.

Ginny's cheeks tinged pink. It had been one week, one week that they had been "dating", and they had not kissed since that second night. Actually, he had been a perfect gentleman while every fiber of being screamed DESCRATE ME! It had been more than mildly frustrating, and even as she sat in this totally unromantic room, she felt herself getting a little warm at the thought of Draco. He was dangerous. There was no way whatever it was that Fred and George were making could be as dangerous as him.

_I have to sound poised. In control. Not totally like I want to screw him any way I can, any time I can, as much as possible._ She thought, running her fingers absently along her shoulder.

"What about him?" she retorted. Her voice was sort of strangled. So much for poise.

"Has he gotten any yet?" George asked, sounding pretty unconcerned about the matter. She raised an eyebrow.

"You don't care if he has?"

"Oh, Gin, hell no. Clearly we have not been very good brothers to you since we moved out of The Burrow way back when. We are not like puppy-dog, I'll-follow-Miranda anywhere Ronald. We are definitely not like I-have-a-stick-up-my-butt Percy. And we definitely aren't like Mum and Dad. More like Bill and Charlie, we are firm believers in having fun," Fred's face turned to distinctly obscene, and she could practically see him recalling all sorts of oh-so-fun details and relishing them.

"Very firm believers. Women, like candy, should never last too long. We always hated that old Roald Dahl book that had Everlasting Gobstoppers. Who wants the same damn piece of candy forever?" George said, smirking.

"No one, that's who," Fred concluded. "And the same concept applies with a piece of ass. Who wants the same damn piece of ass forever?"

Ginny regarded her brothers with new interest. Who knew this twisted, unusual logic rested in their loony brains? It was no wonder that they were thirty-years-old and totally uncommitted except to their store. They were still using the dating world like a sampler box of chocolates.

"You all are twisted," she informed them with a grin.

"Not as twisted as you, the good Gryffindor getting a leg over the Slytherin Prince,"

"We're not at Hogwarts anymore,"

"Trust me. We know. Don't change the subject. Are you screwing Malfoy?"

"Not yet," she conceded finally, biting her lower lip.

"Are you going to?" George looked interested. She paused and finally nodded fervently.

"Merlin's beard, I hope so," she said with a sheepish grin. Fred and George grinned at each other.

"She _is_ our sister, after all!" They cheered in chorus.

"You guys are crappy brothers," she commented.

"Not really. What ended up happening with those charges?"

"The ones for wrecking The Leaky Cauldron? Not much. I just had to pay a fine and volunteer to work the bar there for free for the next six Saturdays to help Tom out,"

"That's not bad at—"

Suddenly the fuchsia goop growled, cutting off George's words. Ginny peered into the cauldron in concern.

"Your stuff is being menacing," she said as if they hadn't heard it.

"It's just done sitting," They murmured, in unison again. The matching gleam of total excitement in their eyes fascinated Ginny. She searched it for signs of insanity, but instead, this time, saw clarity. Fred spooned out a dollop of the goop onto the tray that George was holding. It fizzled oddly and produced a squelching sound like a child making farting noises with its mouth. George grinned at it and lifted his wand, pressing the tip to it.

It smooth out and hardened, leaving a tiny indent where the wand had been. Looking like a piece of putrescent purple amber, it seemed innocuous, lying on the tray. Fred dropped a second glop beside it, George poked it with his wand, and it hardened, matching the first piece perfectly.

"That it?" Fred asked, his spoon poised over the cauldron. George looked over at him, but Ginny couldn't see his face.

"Let's do one more," George's voice held a strange intensity, and Ginny felt like wriggle of concern in her chest. After hardening the third glop, Fred lifted his wand and the contents of the cauldron vanished. All evidence gone except for three hardened dollops on the tray, Fred picked one up, holding it between his thumb and index finger.

"Ginny, you have no idea what this is. If you did, you would pretty much be worshipping us," he said, with a victorious smile on his lips.

"This offers you something rules-free, inhibitions-free, something that nothing else in the history of eternity could ever do…" George informed her.

"What is that?" She interrupted, eyes wide.

"This piece of candy—" Fred began.

"Grape-flavored, we think," George interjected. Fred shot him a look.

"This piece of candy gives you one, exactly one,"

"One what?" Ginny cried in exasperation.

"One rule-free, inhibitions-free **fantasy**." George said. "Anything you want, any one experience or thing or anything. It's yours,"

Her jaw tumbled open.

X

She felt like a drug dealer. The instant she had gotten home, she'd wrapped the piece of candy in a piece of aluminum foil and searched for a good place to put it. She had opted for her underwear drawer, tucking right under a pair of Daffy Duck panties. It was serious contraband, after all, but she wasn't going to just get rid of it. She was going to save it. Maybe for a rainy day. Maybe she would never use it, but that didn't really matter. Just having it made her smirk. Her brothers were flipping geniuses.

"Do you realize what this means, Ginny Weasley?" She told her reflection as she stared herself down in the mirror. "This means that the world is now your quidditch pitch, and you have a Firebolt," She smirked triumphantly as she pulled her auburn waves up into a ponytail. Tonight was destined to be a nightmare. In fact, if someone were planning on writing this night as a story, they would title it 'Nightmare in the Burrow'. Not catchy, but probably a seriously accurate description.

See, her parents had decided to discourage her from dating Draco Malfoy. She knew that's what they were doing because that is the only reason anyone would _ever_ invite someone into a house that was going to contain the following people: Ron (her nutty, overprotective brother), Miranda (his nutty, clingy girlfriend), Fred and George (the mad scientists who were brilliant but crazy), Arthur (her deeply concerned father), Molly (her frazzled mother), Harry (her newly-terrified-of-her, ex-boyfriend), the Whore (her ex-boyfriend's favorite frizzy bookworm), and her (the only sane person in the entire set-up).

Oh dear lord. This was going to be quite an experience.

She had made Draco promise to meet her here at her apartment first, not to just head to the Burrow, and she knew it would be any minute now for his arrival. Unlike last time he had been here, she was prepared, wearing a little longer than knee-length white skirt and a short-sleeved green shirt. She felt ridiculously wholesome in the outfit, but it was better safe than sorry. Even the lightest flash of cleavage or any other exciting skin might set Draco off, and she couldn't have that in front of her parents.

_Oh, right, Gin. Like he's the one who's been about to lose it. You damn near pass out if he gets close enough._

She had to grin at that. Right then, she heard the pop of Apparation and knew that he was in her apartment. There went the oxygen in this place. He walked right into her bedroom, and she spotted his reflection in the mirror. Her jaw opened, and she turned to face him with a surprised smile on her lips. She had dressed so innocently, and he had somehow done the same. In clean khaki pants and a black polo shirt, he looked like somebody's golf buddy. Well, someone's golf buddy who was extremely, extremely sexy, but someone who was still generally trustworthy. Shocking. He raised an eyebrow at her expression.

"You look, uh… like… uh…you look…" She fumbled lamely, going to push a hand through her hair and finding it was up in a ponytail. Her hand dropped back to her side.

"Like someone you could bring home to Mummy and Daddy?" He offered, looking disgusted at the sound of the words. His lip curled in a sneer she had seen many times before. Despite herself, she grinned back.

"Yes, that's exactly what you look like," she agreed. A strange thrill raced up her back. She was about to bring this man into her childhood home. No matter how he had dressed the part, men like him belonged to dark rooms and heavy breathing and hot hands; they did not belong to talking to your parents.

"Well, I am the sort of someone you can take home to Mummy and Daddy. Haven't I done what _you_ wanted for the past week? Been a perfect gentleman?" There was unmasked sarcasm in his voice, and she glared at him.

_What I want is to screw you senseless right here and right now, you stupid bastard!_ She thought.

"You have been perfect," was what she said in a defeated tone, looking pouty.

_Frickin' liar,_ her thoughts growled.

"Fucking liar," he said aloud, voice calm and unbelievably sultry. Her eyebrows snapped upward, and she tried to look appalled at his language and the insult. Instead she just looked turned on by his tone. He went on, "And since you are lying to me and yourself, I'm going to be forced to do something about it."

His voice dropped a bit, and she realized her eyes were wide as he concluded,

"I'm just going to have to give you what you want."

Ginny wasn't sure how the distance between them closed, but as it did, she was mumbling, "You can't do this. My parents…"

"…will get over it," he concluded, tugging her against his chest. His mouth descended on hers, and she rocked up into him, lips meeting his. They kissed hard as if a fierce hunger had grown in the past week, and her hands slid up his chest as his rested at her hips, bunching up the fabric of her skirt. The bare skin of her legs brushed the rough material of his pants, and his tongue parted her lips and tasted her mouth. Colors swirled under her eyelids, heat spread over every inch of her body, and he let his hands glide under her shirt. When he touched the soft skin of her sides, she tightened, gasping into his mouth. As she inhaled again, she tasted cool mint on his breath and kissed him hard all over again.

He guided her backwards, and she felt the backs of her knees bump against her bed. His mouth escaped hers to glide over her skin, nipping in the soft hollow just below her jaw, hot against her warm skin. She reached for his shirt, untucking it feverishly, as his deft fingers found the clasp of her bra. It pulled tighter for a mere millisecond before slacking and being guided gracefully off, removed from under her shirt. He threw it unceremoniously at the wall, and he moved his hands back out in the open, gliding them up to cup her face in his strong hands. Their eyes met, and she saw lust crackling there. She licked the lush curve of her bottom lip as he pulled her down to the bed. Then he licked it for her.

His kiss was slower now, and she followed that lead. Slow and languid, she savored the sensation of their bodies pressed together, of his weight holding her to the bed, making her body dent the smooth fabric of her comforter. His hands roamed now, finding any exposed skin, creating their own exposed skin, pushing that wholesome skirt out of his way and letting his fingers trace shapes along her thighs.

_Aw, hell. He's good at this…Oh hell…_ she leaned up into him, gripping the front of his shirt. He smirked against her mouth, murmuring into the heat of her lips,

"Why, Ginevra? Are you getting desperate?" He teased, nipping the tip of her nose. She nodded breathlessly.

"You weren't supposed to get me here… not for a month…" she mumbled, hardly coherent as she felt his hips settle on hers; even fully clothed, it made her pulse surge erotically, er, erratically. "In fact, let me up… no sex… not for a month," Her voice lacked in conviction as her lips brushed his with each word.

"Shut _up_," he replied, reaching his hands down to lift her shirt over her head. He caught her hair tie, releasing the mess of red curls, and she was too dizzy and turned on and hot to even care that she was topless and disheveled beneath the sexiest man alive.

_Take me,_ her thoughts moaned as she got rid of his shirt and let herself press against the smooth, pale skin, all taut muscle and perfection.

"Your problem…" She noted that his breathing was a quick, voice throaty, a little deeper than usual. "is that you can't just trust me about this. Let go, Ginevra Weasley. I can handle this," He had his hands under her skirt, which was pretty much gone anyway. She closed her eyes, torn between wanting his mouth back and listening to that sexy voice urge her on.

"See, the thing is… I can take care of this. I can make you moan," His hands shifted, and she saw glitter and explosions. "I can make you scream. I will leave you sore and so sexually satisfied that you will never question the importance of an orgasm ever again. I will do _anything_ because I have no barriers," As he spoke, he rid them of her skirt, tossing it off the bed. In only plain white cotton underwear, she writhed as he explored, mouth taking a journey through uncharted territories, licking, biting, teasing. Her fingers fumbled to undo his belt, to unzip those damned pants, as she damn near came right there beneath him.

"In fact, I'm going to teach you to have no barriers, too. Right now, as a matter of fact," he nipped at her hipbone, and she gasped, arching upwards. There was a pause, and next thing, she knew, he was speaking from a new location, lips sending vibrations up her thighs. "So, do you want to have sex with me, Ginevra?"

What a damned rhetorical question.

She felt his fingers touching the top of her underwear, and she nodded.

"Oh hell yes," she gasped. She felt his mouth smirk against her skin, felt him slide back up to kiss her hard on the mouth, tasting her as she tasted him.

Then something ruined everything:

"**OH MY BLOODY GOD!"**

X

This was the sort of thing that was only supposed to happen in silly muggle movies. You were never supposed to be in the middle of the world's greatest foreplay with the most incredible sexual athlete in the history of eternity (he should compete in it, seriously) by your older brother. Both of Ron's hands shot to cover his mouth, and he looked like a little old lady, only far more shocked and devastated. Actually, think Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. Yeah. It was just like that.

"Ginny?!!" Ron's voice was strangled, horrified. No one's jaw had ever dropped like that.

Ginny had to give Draco points for not saying anything snide. He had remained on top of her, using his body as a primitive, but very lovely, sheet. She looked up at Ron with wide eyes, turning an extremely violent shade of purple. Obviously that was a family trait.

"Bad time, Weasley," Draco pointed out finally, but he sounded a little weary, a little defeated. Ginny could understand the feeling; she still couldn't breathe from all that arousal.

"You were…she was… you were… oh my god," Ron looked ill. So ill that he walked over and sat down on the bed beside them, dropping his head into his hands. The awkwardness of sitting beside her brother while entirely naked and covered by a man who had nearly fucked her brains out was not lost on Ginny. She shifted uncomfortably, and instantly wished she hadn't as she caused her skin to glide over Draco's. Oh god. She was still turned on. Damn it all.

"…and afterwards, you were all going to come to the Burrow like nothing had happened! Augh!" Ron was deeply traumatized. Ginny reached over and uncomfortably patted his shoulder with the tips of her fingers. He jumped off of the bed, whirling. Trauma turned to anger just like that.

"YOU DISGUST ME! I'M GOING TO GO TELL THE FAMILY EXACLTY WHY YOU TWO ARE LATE TO DINNER! AUGH!" He roared, disappearing.

Draco looked down at Ginny, two blue eyes cool, with a hint of sapphire fire still sizzling at the edges.

"We'll finish this later, bad girl. Right now, I'm going to have to go explain to your Mummy and Daddy why I was about to fuck their daughter," he half-smiled, half-smirked. "And the worst part is that I'll have to explain that after we finish our conversation, I'm going to drag that same daughter back and finish the job,"

He grinned. "Actually, maybe we should just stay and finish it now,"

She shook her head, sitting up with one hand to head. Wow. Coming close to getting an amazing shag gave you quite the head rush. Feeling pleasantly dizzy and tingly and aroused, she said, trying to sound practical,

"Let's go now before they all show up here to watch,"

Apparently even Draco could not stomach the thought of the entire Weasley clan watching. He stood up and started getting re-ordered.

And what a flipping shame.

_You definitely look better without clothes. I definitely like us better without clothes. Come back here so that we can be without clothes again,_

She tried to stand up and fell back over.

_Oh, dear. I am so totally toast. And not the kind with butter and jam, either._

She started getting dressed to go have a talk about the birds and bees with her parents and the sexiest man alive. Her world was a very strange place. She went into her underwear drawer to get a new pair and saw her fantasy candy. A very strange place indeed.

X

Author's Note II: It's short. I know. It took me forever. I know. Apologies.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** Yes, there is finally an update, and I plan to be regular with it again! So what if I'm a little rusty? It's time Ginny and Draco got to play again. I'm sorry if you have to go back for a refresher on what happened before, but I also hope you won't be disappointed.

X

The balls it requires to tell an entire family that their baby girl was having illicit sex with their most loathed enemy are incredibly large, and it seemed that Ron Weasley was not actually in possession of such behemoth testicles because when Ginny and Draco Apparated into the living room of The Burrow, there was no overwhelming backlash. In fact, the gathering looked fairly acceptable, a lot of adults holding wine glasses and trying to look a lot more polished and put-together than they would on a typical evening. Ginny almost groaned; they were faking it for him, showing him that the Weasleys did not trade class and prosperity for morality. No, they seemed to want to give off the impression that they had both. Quite honestly, no matter how much she loved them, sometimes she wondered if they had any of them. They were a motley crew, when it came down to it.

She looked at everyone and tried to smile, no matter how shaky it looked, particularly when she met Ron's stony, not-smiling gaze. His hand was trembling, likely with rage, on his wine glass. Turning her gaze up to Draco, she felt envious of his cool, unflustered expression. Nothing rattled him. He smiled and held out a hand to her father as politely as ever a boyfriend did to his girlfriend's father. She thought back to the first dinner with Harry and the family when they had started dating; it had a typical, chaotic family evening. She kind of liked this respect for her and her boyfriend, even if it was prompted by their hatred of him. It made her feel grown-up.

"Mr. Weasley, thank you for having me. When Ginevra told me that you all _desired_ my presence at dinner this evening…" he was saying, putting deliberate emphasis on the most unacceptable word and looking directly at Ron, who flushed crimson. The wine in his glass was sloshing towards the rim now, threatening to spill over as his rage shook his hand like trees in a tropical storm. Ginny tried to pretend she did not notice either male's actions. Play dumb. That was always the answer, right? "Well, naturally, I was surprised, considering all our differences."

Mr. Weasley reached forward and took Draco's hand in the same cautious manner that one might reach for a snake, but once their hands locked, all caution was gone. Ginny imagined a pressure gauge above their hands, rising and rising until it finally exploded over the top. She noticed that when they finally let go, too many seconds later, both hands were red.

"Not at all. Any friend of Ginny's is a friend of ours," Ginny wondered how her dad was managing to spit that out through his gritted teeth. Draco just smiled, one corner of his mouth flipped up. She recognized the devilish glint in his blue eyes too late, and a strong arm snaked out and wrapped around her waist, pulling her close.

"Well, I'm not just a friend of Ginny's, but I appreciate the sentiment," he crooned, all charm as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. The kiss lingered a second too long, a reminder of the sizzling kisses shared too few minutes before. She looked up at him, trying to convey a 'Why do you insist on being a douchebag?' message with her eyes directly to Draco without anyone else being able to read it. "Ginevra, darling, is there something in your eye?" He asked innocently. In fact, his cool, innocuous expression was the only one in the room. Everyone else seemed to have lost the shiny, welcoming veneer they had been faking and instead had slipped into good, normal Weasley seething, complete with shiny red faces. Ah, now this was more like the home she knew and loved.

"No, no, there's nothing in my eye, but thank you for your concern," she replied, forcing a smile into existence through the tension hovering in the air in the room. An awkward silence descended, blanketing them all in its tense, awkward wake. Ginny wondered if everyone else would be offended if she just took Draco's hand, marched up to her old bedroom and finished what the two of them had started back in her flat. She liked things better when there was no thinking, no complicated family relations, and no feeling… emotionally, that is, because physically, there was _plenty_ of feeling. Besides, obviously her parents would be forced to understand on some level. You do not end up with seven children by reveling in celibacy and Bible reading. There is some bumping uglies involved in the creation process of such a gaggle of children.

Finally, the beloved twin brothers, acting as the eldest members of the family in the absence of the true eldest threesome, swooped in to save their only sister. Fred walked over and took her hand, guiding her out from under Draco's arm. "Hey, Ginny, why don't you and Miranda go help mum finish up dinner?" He said, pushing her towards the beet-faced Molly Weasley and the shy, not-getting-involved Miranda.

At the same time, George moved towards Draco. "I could use a smoke, Malfoy. What about you?" The good-natured twin inquired, and Ginny could have kissed her brother for it, whether Draco looked grateful or not. Draco just nodded.

"A smoke sounds good," he replied, and the two of them headed towards the door and out of the room. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief before looking at everyone else. Her mum looked as if she was about to have heart failure from the shock of having a Malfoy in her house, so that was the first problem to be addressed here.

"Mum, you just sit out here and relax. Miranda and I can finish up dinner ourselves. I'm sure you've left hardly anything to do, right?" Ginny spoke in a soothing voice that she imagined would feel like cool balm on her mother's hot nerves, but Molly just looked further upset.

"First bringing home that Satan spawn and now kicking me out of my own kitchen," The Weasley matron muttered darkly without showing any sign of rising from her chair. Finally, Ginny met Miranda's gaze, and they shuffled their way into the kitchen. It smelled heavenly, the meaty smell of a good thick Brunswick stew and freshly-baked bread, and Ginny instinctively wished she had her mother's magic in the kitchen, the figurative kind rather than the literal swish-of-a-wand kind. She lifted the lid off of the stew pot and gave it a stir while Miranda opened the oven door to check on the bread and the green bean casserole.

"So… Draco Malfoy, huh?" Miranda said. There was an oddly sympathetic note to her tone that made Ginny look over. "Must be a handful to date someone that insecure."

"Insecure?" Her jaw dropped. Had Miranda never actually met Mr. Cool-Confident-and-In-Control? Ginny snorted. "He has an ego the size of Great Britain. No, wait. Scratch that. An ego the size of Russia." Realizing that this did not do a very good job of upholding the image that she was actually dating him, rather than just pretending, she tacked on a "God bless him" for good measure. Miranda laughed.

"He seems like he acts like he does because it keeps him from ever having to say anything about himself. I worked with him on a project back at Hogwarts once. He was cocky as hell unless you made him actually talk about himself, like we had to do for parts of the project. Then he just got cold and sarcastic. Seemed like insecurity to me," Miranda replied thoughtfully. "That was quite some time ago, though. He's probably a lot different now."

Ginny had never paid much attention to Ron's girlfriend before now, but now she really looked at her. "You're a professional Legilimens, aren't you?" Ginny asked her with sudden deep interest, and Miranda nodded. "So you must actually know, right?" Now Miranda shook her head.

"No. By Ministry regulation, Legilimentes are only able to practice in a specific environment. My job is really no different than that of a muggle psychiatrist and those confidentiality agreements. I just look into the memories and emotions and help my patients gain control of them or learn from them or whatever the particular situation calls for. Malfoy has never been a patient of mine." She laughed, seemingly at the thought of Malfoy coming into her practice looking for help. Ginny felt a sudden stab of interest in just how Ron and Miranda had met, but she was far too concerned to ask. There were memories Ron had, memories about her, like her opening the Chamber of Secrets her first year at Hogwarts, that she hoped no one would ever have to know, let alone this quiet, thoughtful girlfriend of his.

"Thank God. Wouldn't want you to know more about my boyfriend than I do," Ginny joked hollowly, eyes furtively glancing around the kitchen for the timer. She wanted to get back to the big setting again. Her awareness that she was in the kitchen with someone who probed others' brains for a living was suddenly way too high for her to feel comfortable.

"Well, it doesn't take a mind reader to see that you two have sizzle," Miranda replied with a conspiratorial smile, obviously an attempt to ease the tension and earn a smile from Ginny. It worked, and Ginny smiled as she thought of her and Draco in her flat earlier. Yes, sizzle was something they did indeed have. Just being next to him made the temperature in any room rise by ten degrees.

"Sizzle sounds like a good thing," The devil himself's voice echoed, and Ginny turned to see him coming through the back door. There was no smell of smoke on his breath as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I don't actually smoke, but I needed the cool air to remind myself that you want me to behave at dinner."

She nodded, even as she thought that she wanted nothing more than to misbehave with him. "You got it, buddy." She reached for her wand on the kitchen counter and flicked it at the pot of stew and then a cabinet. Bowls started to fly out, waiting patiently for the stew pot to tip on its side and fill them up. It was moments like this where her ex-boyfriend would have proclaimed reverently, "God I love magic."

Her currently boyfriend, however, just looked at her handiwork with a cool, unappreciative look and said, "Do you need any help with anything?"

Wait. Wait. Wait. Hold the Hogwarts Express. Did Draco Malfoy just offer to help? She looked up at him, pushing a strand of red hair away from her eyes. He looked exactly the same as the asshole who had breezed into her office a little over a week ago and asked her to sleep with him to win him a bet with his rich, obnoxious friends, but that asshole would never have offered to help her with anything. So obviously he was ill. Desperately ill. She reached up and touched his forehead with the back of her hand, and he raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing?"

"You're sick. Obviously. You just offered to help."

"Miss Weasley," he began in an almost annoyed tone, taking her wrists and turning her to face him. She looked up into his eyes and felt that odd rush, as if the very earth under her feet were quaking and shaking her insides, as if he controlled something wild and sexual inside of her just by meeting her gaze. She fought the urge to kiss him as he lowered his face towards hers. "I offered to help you earlier, did I not?"

"With what ex— oh." He had offered to help her understand exactly why an orgasm was so important. The memory sent a curious electric shock through her system. "Well, yes. But that is not the same sort of helping at all."

"No, it's not. It is a much bigger and more important form of help. So why should you be surprised at me offering a paltry piece of help with something as minuscule as dinner?"

"You know, for a second, I thought you were sick, then I hoped you were normal, and then I remembered you're a Malfoy," she replied sarcastically, walking over to pull open a door. She thrust a handful of silverware towards him. "Go put these on the table." He did not extend a hand to take them. "I thought you were willing to help."

He raised an eyebrow. "And I thought you understood who gives the orders around here."

"You can give me orders later. For now…" She handed him the silverware. "Go put these on the table."

She should not have been surprised that he did exactly as he was told because if someone had taken a picture of his face when she said "You can give me orders later," the picture would not have been worth a thousand words; it would have been worth exactly two: a delighted "Fuck yes."

X

Dinner had been a spectacular mess of an event. Her family was so keyed-up in Draco's presence that more than one cup was overturned, piece of silverware dropped, etc. Though only one person actually stabbed himself in the cheek with a fork, that honor was reserved specifically for Ron. When everyone had laughed at him for that, he had become so angry that he blurted out that the only reason anyone felt it was acceptable to laugh at him was because no one wanted to address the fact that Ginny was just shagging Draco because she missed Harry. When Molly Weasley corrected him gently that Ginny was not shagging anyone, Ron announced that he had witnessed it just before dinner in Ginny's flat. Then Mr. Weasley had awkwardly confirmed it by telling briefly the story of the workplace sexual proposition a week before. Needless to say, dessert was skipped, angry words were exchanged, and Ginny turned her family's trademark color before turning to Draco and saying,

"Take me home NOW."

Her stunned family only had enough time to feel wounded that she did not consider The Burrow home.

X

Ginny had not expected to be in the Malfoy Manor when she demanded to go home, but the arrival of her feet on the marble floor did not upset her. She was already too upset, close to tears. Draco was standing a few feet away from her after Apparating, looking at her and looking somewhat confused. Of course he would not understand. He had grown up in the heart of evil, basically, the snake pit itself, so of course he could not understand how much the true disappointment and disapproval of your family, usually full of love, could hurt. Her daddy's biting comment that she was certainly not behaving like the girl he raised had stung all the way to the core, and it was that comment that had her holding back tears. Even more unbearable, she was sniffling in front of Draco Malfoy, her faux-boyfriend.

"I'm sorry. They just…" Sniffle. "make me." Sniffle. "so upset." Sniffle.

He stood, looking at her awkwardly, and then his eyes brightened as if a small revelation of sorts had hit him. "Come here, Ginevra," he said quietly, without any of the sarcasm or icy charm she connected with him intrinsically.

"Why?" She asked, sniffling again. He looked agitated, and he shifted from one foot to the other. She had never seen such an uncharacteristically hesitant action from him before in her life. She sniffled again. He shifted again. There seemed to be a correlation. Forcing another sniffle, she did it again. So did he.

"You seem to need a hug because you are crying," he finally said. She forced out a whiny, high-pitched half-wail of sadness, and he took two steps backward. The correlation had been established. Draco Malfoy was afraid of crying women. Dear God, he was never going to make it in the world with a fear like that. Too fascinated by this discovery to continue genuinely crying, she began to fake it. Her fake crying was not very good. It was a little too melodramatic, a little too shrill, but it seemed to suit the purpose of scaring him quite effectively. Even through her squinted eyes and shaking line of vision – due to the fake sobbing shaking her body – she was able to see that he was backed all the way up against the wall, trying and failing to look as if he was just casually leaning there.

"Do you need something? Can I go get you some water?" He asked, voice quivering under the attempt at his usual calm tone.

"No! Just hold me!" She wailed, moving towards him with arms outstretched. She wiggled her fingers like creepy claws as she did so and tried to refrain from letting the fake crying turn to laughing. She watched him stoically try to stand up straight, half-opening his arms to accept her into an embrace. Once he folded her into his arms, though, it was much harder to maintain the fake sobs. His body still surprised her with how warm it was, like a furnace that lit a fire all the way to her very bones, and his arms were strong, holding her too tight in his nerves about handling a crying woman. She relished in the feel of his arms around her for a moment, even though she knew it was foolish and that it was just a sign that the devil was getting too strong of a grasp on her.

When her relishing moment was up, however, she turned her red face towards him, looking up at him with a quivering lower lip. "I can't believe," she began, full acting performance in place for a few seconds before she dropped the façade and grinned, "that you fell for that!"

He looked down at her first in icy shock and then horrorstruck. "Fell for what?"

"You honestly thought I was crying like this," she produced another fake ear-splitting sob and then giggled. "You fell for it!"

"You were crying when I saved you from The Burrow. It was natural to think that…" He stopped, looking down at her. His arms were still around her, his face remarkably close to hers. Suddenly, he smiled. It took her aback now, this sudden, genuine smile that showed perfectly white teeth and not a trace of cynicism. "You little bitch."

Those three little words had never been muttered more affectionately.

"You goddamned terrible little bitch," he stated again, still smiling and sounding almost… proud, putting two fingers under her chin and leaning in to kiss her. His mouth was hot and sweet, and she was so surprised by the kiss that there was nothing to do except kiss him back. She tasted the intoxicating taste of his mouth that she was coming to recognize. It was cool in some ways, clean and somehow minty in spite of his last meal being stew, but in other ways, it was all heat, like hot fudge that had been heated too long, sweet and decadent and too hot in your mouth but too delicious to quit tasting. She rocked up into the kiss, arms sliding around his neck, and she heard a low, husky purr.

Then she realized the low, husky purr had come from her.

His hands cupped her cheeks, fingers sliding over the delicate skin of her neck and making her shiver, before he moved his mouth to the hint of her collarbone showing in spite of her modest shirt. He suckled first, gently, so gently it could have been anyone but Draco, and then he licked, tongue dexterous enough to be someone with experience, and then he bit down on the soft skin and made her cry out, hard enough without hurting her to only be Draco. He whispered against her skin, hot breath turning cool against the skin he had just dampened with his tongue, "I want to teach you a lesson about punishment for lying to me."

"I didn't lie to you," she argued, her voice so soft and husky that it was hardly her own.

"You did. You pretended to be upset and I felt… very sorry for you," he kissed the soft skin on the other side, her neck this time, and then he nipped, pressing his teeth into the skin hard enough to make her gasp.

"You punish people for teaching you compassion?" She murmured, realizing her entire body weight was sagged against him. Her bones felt as if they had melted right out of existence.

"Actually, no one has ever done that before," he replied, finding that soft hollow under her jaw that was so sensitive and leaving a tender kiss – after an ever so delicate flick of his tongue – there. "But I'll make a deal with you."

He suddenly reached down and lifted her off of the ground. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and now that they were eye-to-eye, she could see all the smoldering heat in his. She wondered if hers looked as lusty, and then wondered no more as he chuckled seductively, "I think you'll like this deal."

"Lay out the terms, Lucifer," she said, putting her nose on his. The whole moment, standing in the dimly-lit foyer of Malfoy Manor, looking into each other's eyes, as every hormone in their bodies raced and leapt and over-rejoiced in excitement, was a moment unlike any Ginny had ever experienced. She tried to remember Harry, tried to remember what it had been like to feel the rush of desire with him, but the memory no longer seemed to be there. It was as if this lust, this attraction to this cool devil and all his fire, had eclipsed any lust she had ever felt in the past. And any lust she could ever feel again.

"I will punish you for lying," he said. His fingers, which were resting on her bottom on the material of her skirt, wiggled once almost playfully. "Then I will reward you for teaching me compassion."

Her lips curved in a smirk that mirrored the one he had given her so many times by now. "Conditions are almost agreeable," she said, pausing to kiss him. She loved that he kissed back as hungrily as she did. There was power in holding such sway over a man of power like Draco, even if the power was only lust. "Only one thing."

"What's that?"

"I'm not having sex with you."

"Does the contract allow for you to change your mind during the transaction?"

"Oh ho. Quite a businessman, hmmm?"

"Just answer the question."

Their words were spoken in the most hushed of whispers, words of pure sexual banter in spite of their playfulness. It was hot proposition that rested on the table now. It was two people threatening to overheat the very fires of hell itself. It was Ginevra Weasley, too hell-bent and stubborn to give in to what she really wanted, and it was Draco Malfoy, too trusting in his powers of charm and persuasion to move her to give in by any other means. It was sexuality at its rawest, a power struggle, a battle for dominance, a purely carnal endeavor.

It made Ginny shiver with pleasure just at the mood between them as she answered, "Yes."

He started to walk towards his bedroom, eyes smoldering on hers. She wondered if his skin was on fire like hers so that every brush of skin on skin made him want to scream for more. As they entered his bedroom, Ginny looked around. It was decorated in blacks and silvers and blues, tasteful and neoclassic. It was a beautiful room, all sharp angles and edgy designs. She could not help but feel satisfied that she would be adding some curves to the room.

"So we have a deal?" He asked as he lowered them onto the bed, onto a silk comforter that felt erotic as it slithered across her skin.

"Yes."

They sealed it with a kiss.

X

**AN:** I hope you enjoyed it. Now review. Tell me what you think. Tell me if you have suggestions for anything. Oh, and keep in mind that the next chapter will definitely require its M rating, so if that's a problem, there is no point in pressing on!


	5. Chapter 5

Ginevra Weasley did not remember what it felt like to drown in desire. If she had ever known, she did not remember, and Draco seemed to be more than happy to show her the ropes. In the dark, against the dark palette of colors of his bedroom, he did not look evil like she would have expected. Instead, he looked more like a dark angel fallen from grace than a demon. She kissed his devil's mouth, slid her tongue in to taste the inside, as he tugged off her skirt, pulled away her shirt, breaking their kiss for only a moment. Her hands worked of their own accord, pulling off his polo shirt, fumbling with the white undershirt. His skin was hot under hers as her hands snuck inside to race over his toned abdomen. He gasped, and she purred as his hand raced down her side.

"You want me as bad as I want you," she realized in a husky whisper, and he nodded, unhooking her bra with a flick of his strong fingers. Her breasts fell free and felt full and heavy, asking him to touch them without asking her permission to want him that badly.

"That depends, Ginevra," his voice was a heated strong creature, stroking her skin and her lust as surely as a hand could. In the rush of passion, clothes were abandoned except for underwear. It was not principle that kept Ginny from ripping their drawers off. No, it was the luxurious desire for the erotic feelings to continue unconsummated, to play in this breathless, desperate anticipation. Draco seemed happy to steady the pace, as well, reaching up to pull the covers down. The silk comforter slithered over her skin, and she mourned for a second that its smooth texture would be lost. Draco's bed was obviously incapable of disappointing her, though. The sheets were silver silk, soft as spun clouds, and the coolness against the heat of lust was a shocking contrast.

Draco bent his head low; his mouth caressed his bite mark from only a few moments earlier, feeling like an unspoken apology for being too rough. Lower still, his skillful mouth moved to the sensitive, waiting skin of her right breast. Her hands moved to grip his shoulders, fingers sinking into the comforting strength of muscle. He moved slowly, so tantalizingly slowly that Ginny wanted to beg him to go faster at the same time that she wanted to thank him for not doing so. Her nerves danced under her skin, following the magic sensation of his mouth drawing all the desire from inside her soul out to play. Finally, his mouth found her nipple, pebbled and waiting, and instead of a gentle touch, he used his teeth, pulling a ragged gasp of pleasure from her. His tongue flicked its devilish apology before he moved to the next breast.

On and on for what felt like hours (and yet only felt like seconds, in another way), his mouth followed its pattern. Too rough, followed by a hot, moist apology… it was decadent how deliberate his sexual baiting was. Finally, he looked up at her from between her legs, a hand braced on either side of her hips, his eyes finally tearing themselves away from the most private part of her. She wondered if she should feel ashamed, self-conscious, or if this feeling of earthy, rich, passionate sexuality was entirely appropriate for bedding Satan.

"Are you ready to learn about orgasms, miss?" His voice tried to be flippant, but she could hear the desire, hot and thick, in it, and she could also feel the way his voice coddled the 'miss' as if it were a pet name. For one moment of shocking clarity and confidence, Ginny Weasley knew that Draco Malfoy was giving more to her than just casual sexual behavior; maybe hearts were not involved, exactly, but it was something beyond just bodies. For both of them.

Her muscles tightened from head to toe in anticipation as she nodded. Her nod was enough, and he pulled away her underwear, throwing it carelessly. With one strong hand, he stroked down to touch between her legs, and she shocked herself with a throaty moan. Then she was too shocked by the pleasure to even be shocked. His fingers probed, stroked, slid, caressed, teased, and triumphed as she squirmed and rolled her hips against him. The pleasure heightened, and she climbed a mountain, nearer and nearer the top until she thought she could go no higher. Suddenly, she heard his voice, sounding far away and almost savage in his restraint. She could feel in its deep tones how badly he wished to take her, but she instinctively knew he would not do it without her express permission.

"Does the deal stand as originally stated?"

Her hips moved against his fingers, but he did not help. He was waiting for an answer. The permission was on her tongue, wanting to be let loose, but she thought about what would follow. They would dress, say goodbye, and he would go collect his bet money. For a cold second, she remembered what this was all based on, before the look of hunger in his eyes made her forget all over again.

"Yes."

He did not look hesitant or hurt or surprised that her mind had not changed. Perhaps on some level he understood. Instead, his blue eyes smoldered, and he maneuvered up to kiss her, tasting her lips slowly and tenderly as his fingers returned to their dirty work. She moaned against his mouth, and he leaned back a millimeter to whisper, "Ginevra Weasley, I think of the two of us… it is you who are the devil," and suddenly his mouth left hers and plunged to hot, wet work where his fingers had been. It was too much for her, that desperate heat and fire and fire and fire… she climbed up the mountain, faster, harder, and she saw the cliff for only a second before she plummeted. A piercing cry, ecstatic and carnal, broke the quiet in the bedroom, and she lay limp and spent.

It was some time before she left the rushing, powerful sensation of orgasmic aftermath behind and came to her senses enough to look at him, reclining beside her. His muscles were still tight, his underwear, she affirmed with a glance, was still considerably tighter than it would have been were he not aroused, but he was not reaching for her or trying to push her past their deal in her postorgasmic glow. The respect and restraint was so unexpected, so un-Malfoy, that she reached for him, taking his hand in hers, rolling over, naked and stretched out and alive with pleasant feeling. Her entire body felt like Jell-O.

"I will not ever again lie to you," she whispered, her eyes twinkling, and he nodded, smirking.

"I know."

Silence fell for a few moments, and he reached for the sheets to pull them back over them both. It felt so strangely intimate, lying there together in a comfortable silence, that Ginny closed her eyes drowsily. She was aware that he was watching her, meaning he would soon usher her out of the house for the night. In fact, he cleared his throat to do just that, but it seemed that the wrong words came out because instead of asking her to leave, she could have sworn he suggested she stay.

"What?" She echoed, sitting up, confused.

"Are you deaf? I was suggesting that you just curl and up and go to sleep here instead of going back to that appalling little dump you live in."

"That sounds like a kind offer,"

"You said you had taught me compassion. I'm practicing my lesson."

"You're doing swimmingly." She managed, lying back down. He reached over and put an arm around her, pulling her against his chest. Ignoring the feeling that she was in a foreign, parallel universe where Draco Malfoy was her real boyfriend, not a jerk-off guy just pretending to date her to win a bet, she laid her head against his warm, soft skin, breathed in his distinctly masculine scent, and closed her eyes.

"Let me see," Draco said, sounding so human, sleepy and relaxed. "The score is one to zero." Ginny did not know how to handle his seeming so human. There was no devil in this tired, intimate, relaxed Draco.

"Score?"

"Number of orgasms given. I'm winning…" His voice trailed off towards the end, and she realized he had fallen asleep mid-sentence. She lay awake for a few more minutes, curled against him, and felt unexpected warmth in her chest. It felt like happiness.

Besides, it had to be a good sign about this Devil of a man that he considered it winning to give her more orgasms than she had given him. That was a sign of selflessness, even if it was in a distinctively, devilish sexual vein.

Why was her faux-boyfriend turning out to only be a faux-asshole? This whole affair made more sense when he was the real kind.

X

Every morning, sunlight filtered through the filmy curtains into her one bedroom flat and woke her up before the chime of her alarm could break the silence. This morning, however, Ginny Weasley rolled over in luxurious sheets, breathed in the intoxicating scent of maleness and expensive cologne, and opened her eyes to night-time darkness even though her internal clock informed her that it was morning. The bed was empty beside her, and for a second, the memory of last night came rushing back to her, from start of delicious foreplay in her apartment to the ghastly dinner at The Burrow to the completion of foreplay last night… though not total completion, especially not for him. Where was he? She sat up, pushing her hand through her bedraggled mop of red curls and blinking blearily to try to adjust her eyes to the dark room.

No, he was definitely not in here. The asswipe had abandoned his own house in order to get away from her morning-after. What a douche – wait, was that the sound of running water? She actually flushed crimson as she realized the shower was on; he had not left, had not hustled out of the house in a rush. Instead, he was taking his shower, undoubtedly getting ready for work. Work. She had better think about that too, and there were no clothes here that would actually be acceptable for her to go to work in, yet… for some reason, she did not want to get up and simply Apparate to her flat. Damn these silk sheets. The rich life had far too much appeal.

She rolled over and over in the sheets, creating a cocoon of silk around her, and then stood up, wearing her sheet like a Greek goddess's toga as she waddled (in a significantly less than goddess-like manner) towards the sound of the shower. When she cracked open the bathroom door, a wave of steam rolled out, and she smiled, stepping into the sauna warmth of a dream-home bathroom. The ceiling was high and arched, the tile was red and cream, with silver fixtures, and there was a huge Jacuzzi bathtub, a red toilet (that tickled her for some reason), and a shower, which he was currently occupying. Most impressively, there were dragons etched in the tile above the bathtub. The dragon was beautiful, etched with almost intimate attention to details, inlaid silver eyes (she was noticing a real attraction to silver in the decoration of Malfoy Manor), and twin broad wings spread over. It looked like a guardian… perhaps to Hell, but somehow, like Draco himself, it did not seem sinister or evil like it should.

"Good morning," she announced, and a wet, blonde head popped out from behind the curtain to look at her. He looked distinctly grouchy.

"Are you getting ready for work here?" He asked sharply.

Caught off-guard by the abruptness of the question, she stammered, "If that's okay."

"Yes. Fine. It is fine. There is a bathroom down the hall on the left. If any of the house elves are in there, just shoo them out." He popped back into the shower as if she did not exist. Offended, she stormed out and slammed the door, marching down the hall and leaving her sheet-dress in a heap on the floor. She was not just dirt beneath his feet, and she was not going to tolerate him talking to her as if she was. Now, realistically, she knew that him offering her her very own bathroom to get ready in was actually kind treatment, but it did not faze her when compared to his brusque, impersonal way of offering it.

Ginny did not know when she suddenly started demanding more from Draco than his money and the prestige of dating him, but she could tell that respect was not going to be enough anymore. She had seen too many glimpses of affection, glimpses of admiration at her spunk, and she was going to demand those from him as long as he was in her life, faux-boyfriend or not.

Still fuming, she walked into the bathroom he had directed her to, and she was surprised by another shockingly beautiful interior design. This bathroom was green and silver, and the Slytherin serpent was etched above this bathtub, a glorious piece of artwork that was inlaid with emerald cut-glass. The snake was not intimidating or fierce, just primal beauty captured in artwork. The towels were emerald-colored too, and she picked one up, running the thick, plush material through her fingers. Was it just money that allowed a man to fill a house with such beautiful things, just the ability to hire people to make it perfect, or was there something indicative about a person if they surrounded themselves with such gloriousness?

She took a steamy shower, impressed by the showerhead's massaging stream, the exotic floral scent of the shampoo and conditioner she had found in the cabinet, and the foaming bubbles the soap created that floated through the bathroom like a child's bath time dream come to life. Her bad mood had evaporated by the time she had toweled off, and she strolled back the bedroom to put on her clothes again. She hated wearing clothes two days in a row, but her outfit from yesterday would be acceptable work attire where wearing a set of Draco's clothes would not. She dressed and toweled her hair off. With a flick of her wand, she evaporated the wrinkles in her skirt and proceeded to curl her hair loosely. She remembered the first time her mother taught her how to use the heat spell and her wand for hair touch-ups anytime. Now she was so skilled at it that she didn't even need a mirror. When she finished, she looked around for Draco. Where was he now?

Following her nose – to the scent of food, not his cologne – she walked down the winding staircase to the kitchen. Three house elves were scurrying around, and the smell made the fragrance in The Burrow last night smell like garbage. Draco was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in one hand, the Daily Prophet in the other, and a suit on that probably cost an obscene amount of money. He looked so handsome it was breathtaking in that black and white suit, with a blue tie that matched his eyes. They looked up at her, and a trademark smirk crossed his lips before he took sip of his coffee.

"You look absolutely as ravishing as you did yesterday… I wonder why," he commented offhand, though his smirk did not waver. She looked at the nearly empty cup he was holding and thought of her brother, Ron, and how grouchy he was in the morning. Perhaps Draco Malfoy was not a morning person. Another human trait peeking through the seemingly flawless exterior of Satan.

"You're making jokes and remembering who I am now?" She said as she dropped into the seat beside him. "A few minutes ago, you didn't seem to notice that I wasn't just your every-night hooker cleaning up in the mornings." A house elf, a petite little creature with a pink nose and bulbous brown eyes, placed a cup of coffee in her hand, and she murmured a comment of gratitude before taking a sip. Apparently it wasn't just aromatic coffee; it tasted exactly how coffee smelled, not just a watered-down version of the rich scent like most coffee was. She took three solid and very unladylike gulps of the coffee (which was somehow the perfect temperature… how did everything Draco did, even indirectly, turn out perfectly?).

"I never allow my hookers into that bathroom," he sipped again, "I have a certain fondness for it, since it was my bathroom growing up."

"You mean the Dragon Toilet Room wasn't always yours?"

"Sarcasm does not flatter you, Ginevra. But no, the master bathroom was not always mine. It was my mother and father's when I was a child,"

"Speaking of which… I know where your father is…" Azkaban was not a subject worth breaching so early in the morning. "But why is your mother not living here still?"

Draco stiffened, and there was sudden, visceral coldness between them. Ginny knew she had asked a question he did not want to answer, but that the Malfoy manners – those fickle, charming, dark manners that had been ingrained in him since birth – would not allow him to remain silent. "Narcissa is a Black by blood, not a Malfoy. She may not own the Manor without my father, so when he lost the property rights as a result of his sentence, it passed directly to me."

She gasped. "You kicked your own mother out of her home of twenty-some years?"

Draco turned away coldly, rising to his feet. "She had other more suitable accommodations at hand." He waved a hand at the leftovers from his breakfast on the table. It seemed he had eaten some sort of fruit scone and a helping of bacon. The house elves hustled over to clean it up. "Anything you would like to eat, just ask and the elves will make it for you. I have to get to the office. I have an employee meeting to direct first thing this morning."

"You make no sense to me," Ginny said, looking into her coffee cup. "You give me a life-affirming orgasm after only a few weeks of bet-related dating and you won't even give your mother a home after she pushed you through her vagina into the world."

Draco made a face. "You are a foul, uncouth creature. Have some breakfast. Go to work. Come back here tonight and figure me out until I make sense to you?"

"We'll see. Give your mother a home and I'll get back to you?"

"See you tonight, Persephone." He said with a smirk. He Apparated before he could hear her muse,

"Wasn't Persephone the wife of Hades, devil of Greek mythology?"

Draco Malfoy was going to be the death of her, but the positive thing about that was that whether he killed her or not, she would still be going back to Hell/Malfoy Manor for consorting with the devil.

X

While she had heard many times before that it was bad to only pretend to work while on the clock, Ginny had never actually noticed any consequences at her particular job. Apparently the Ministry did not need her regular productivity for survival. The thought was a little tragic, for who wants to be useless, but today, it just opened doors for her to pretend to work while she actually culled through paperwork on historic properties, looking for the legalities of Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa Malfoy's property ownership woes were none of her business, and she understood that, but she could not resist the desire to know more. Was there really a stipulation requiring a by-blood Malfoy own that piece of property and real estate, or was Draco simply trying to save face with her by pretending such a stipulation existed when really he had just de-housed his own mother? She looked through another folder and thought of something Hermione had once mentioned about muggles and computers. That sounded a lot more magical than hand-filed paperwork. The wizarding world needed to catch up.

Finally, having located the M's in the historical estates folder, she quickly removed the document she was interested in and slunk back to her cubicle. _What excellent spywork, Ginevra,_ her inner devil – pardon me, her inner Malfoy – praised before realizing that she was spying on him. Then he fell silent and cold, just allowing the good side of her conscience to speak. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no angel on her shoulder to reprimand her for stealing legal paperwork and prying into other people's business. That was a little disconcerting. Weren't Weasleys supposed to have an angel on at least one shoulder?

_Stealing paperwork is bad_, she tried to admonish herself, but her interest in the paper drowned out her attempt at angelicism and she started reading, quietly aloud to herself.

"Malfoy Manor can only be under the ownership of authorized persons designated by the family tree as result of blah blah legal jargon blah…" She frowned. "I have no idea what this shit means."

"You could ask me. I'm not bad with legal jargon," a voice announced in the doorway, just meek and kind enough to instantly infuriate Ginny. What was it with people thinking her office was not private, thinking they could just walk straight in if they were not her boss? Just because she was a low-level peon here at the Ministry did mean she was below other people… namely Hermione Granger Wannabe-Potter, who was in medic's robes and looked positively saintly, like she was just on break from saving lives. Ginny looked at her un-filed paperwork and her stolen reading material and felt a momentary blip of shame. Luckily it passed.

"I am sure you are bad at more than enough things to make up for it," Ginny remarked off-hand, and Hermione looked stung. Ginny often felt more pity for Hermione than the none that she felt for Harry. Though it had been a bitch movie of Little Miss Bookslut, it was understandable. What geek did not want to have her fairytale ending where she gets to be with the hero of the entire fucking wizarding world? Hermione had been trained by all the stories of childhood to believe that she, as a nerd, deserved to be lifted from her lowly status by the love of a superior man. See? When she looked at it that way, Ginny found she could be much more benevolent.

"Pardon me. That was rude," Ginny replied, sounding distinctly Malfoyish in her cool, polite tone. She tried to warm it up to no avail.

"No, it's okay. I understand… you're still mad at me,"

"Mad at you? For what? Shagging my boyfriend who I was obsessed with from such a young age that I once thought it was acceptable to compare his eyes to pickled toads, freshly pickled ones, if I remember correctly? No. You did me a service actually. Infatuation is not healthy." Ginny's tone was still cool, but she managed a smile. Hermione's brown eyed widened at the smile, however, and not in an appreciative way. _You'd think she would show a little gratitude to me for trying to be civil, friendly even_, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror and realized why Hermione was not grateful. She wasn't smiling; she was smirking, just like Draco Malfoy. This would be why they warned people about consorting with sin, temptation and deprecation.

"You're still good at infatuation. Dating Draco Malfoy? That seems like a get-back-at-the-hero-who-I-am-still-infatuated-with maneuver to me," Hermione seemed to be trying to make a good-natured jab, trying to have them interact on the same level. Did she understand nothing about social norms? She was not allowed to take jabs at the girl whose boyfriend she slept with. Silly Hermione.

Unfortunately, Ginny realized that it did not actually bother her to think of it anymore. She felt bitterness towards Harry just for his sheer stupidity and his lack of concern about all her time that he wasted, but the actual occurrence no longer tugged a heartstring. So she actually no longer had an acceptable excuse for her unkind comments towards Bush-head, and yet she kept making them. Maybe she wouldn't make them if the damn angel on her shoulder would show up for work sometimes, instead of just the Draco on the other shoulder.

"No, it's really not. He's rich, fabulously attractive and he keeps me on my toes. I've never had as much fun in my life as I have had since I started dating him," Ginny replied in a lofty, superior voice, shooting a haughty look at Hermione.

Then she realized she meant what she had just said; it was true. Lord Jesus, help her, she was starting to not hate Draco Malfoy. She looked down at the paperwork in her hand. She needed to prove to herself that he had kicked his own mother out of her home and fast. Otherwise she would never get back to appropriate hatred.

"Well, I'm happy for you, Gin. That's actually the reason I came by to talk to you. I was hoping you would help me with something. It has to do with his mother,"

Ginny's head popped up, and that clever Disney ditty of "It's a Small World" started to jangle annoyingly in her brain.

_Well, well, well… thank you for your visit, Bush-head,_ she thought, _Now tell me everything._

* * *

**AN: **I hope my lovely readers enjoyed this chapter (I'm sorry for the tease at the beginning... but surely you knew Ginny was going to try her hardest to hold out!). If you have been silently reading, please pipe up with a review! Your opinions matter to me immensely! _  
_


	6. Chapter 6

She was obviously living in the Twilight Zone, that old muggle television series with the funny, supposed-to-be-scary music and bad special effects. Only in the Twilight Zone would Hermione Granger have been seated in her office, talking about Narcissa Malfoy, and only in the Twilight Zone would that conversation lead to Ginny leaving the office after work and going straight to St. Mungo's to see her faux-boyfriend's infirmed mother.

"_Her health is so fragile anyway. We were concerned that… well, not to be offensive, Ginny, obviously, because I'm certainly not a pureblood, but we were concerned that the shock of hearing that her son was dating a blood traitor like a Weasley might have been a serious blow to her health. She has not been eating or sleeping properly."_

Ginny shook her head as she walked down the clinical white hallway, visitor's badge clipped to her shirt. It was hard to imagine the sour-faced matron of the modern Malfoy clan so affected by the news of her son's love life that she could not eat, but it was also hard to imagine that snake of a woman lying in a hospital bed for the last four years. Hermione said she had suffered a massive stroke directly after her husband's conviction and sentence to Azkaban, but Ginny found that hard to believe. Once Hermione had left, she had checked the Ministry Records (what was a little more paperwork stealing compared to ignorance of her faux-boyfriend's mother's condition, after all?) and found no record of Narcissa Malfoy having ever been in St. Mungo's except for the birth of her one and only son.

So, even though Hermione had not suggested she come by (instead, she had suggested that she talk to Draco about the situation), Ginny decided to take the initiative to investigate herself. She remembered reading Norris Duplats novels when she was a kid; he was the greatest wizarding detective ever, and he was a master of putting together the puzzle pieces to present the complete picture to the unsuspecting perpetrator at the end of the book. She would be Norris Duplats today and solve this mystery.

Even to her rather off-kilter way of thinking, the whole concept sounded horribly juvenile, and she was struck by the urge to just go home, change clothes, and then go to Malfoy Manor for an evening with that devil of hers. Then she thought about how cold and remote he had gotten this morning at the mention of his mother. No, she had to figure this out. She stepped a little more authoritatively now, hand in her bag, ready to pull out her Ministry badge if necessary. Everyone in the Ministry knew she was just a glorified secretary, but her badge was still as good as anybody else's, and she was not afraid to use the clout she did not have to get results.

Reaching the information station on the long-term patient floor, she breathed in and gathered her mental state. She reached into her new memories of watching Malfoy's charm and authority in action, such as the night they had eaten their extravagant dinner at Knitholder's, and when she spoke, she tried to emulate the cool, polite but no-room-for-questioning manner that he so often employed.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I'm here for visitation with Narcissa Malfoy."

Okay, so the first attempt was a little stiff, but the nurse still looked obediently through her paperwork. Then her forehead furrowed in obvious confusion.

"Ma'am, I don't see any evidence of Narcissa Malfoy being a patient here…"

Ginny knew she should just accept this answer; it was given in a genuinely puzzled voice, sincerity speaking in the nurse's eyes. She just _knew_ there was more to this than that, though! Hermione would not have said Narcissa was here if she wasn't, even if the Ministry of Magic said she wasn't here. It was just a matter of finding her. She drew herself and nodded curtly.

"There must be another paperwork debacle. I swear, if there are any more mix-ups, we are putting her in private care. Would you mind directing me to the head of this wing, please?"

The please was too much, Ginny knew. Draco would never have added a please to that expression because he would have considered it a point of weakness in an otherwise strong statement. He used his manners in the most effective way possible. Still, it seemed to work just fine on this nurse who nodded.

"I'll show you the way," she replied, stepping out from behind the desk and moving down the corridor. Her stride was a bit too clipped, so Ginny decided she must have come on a little too strong with her Draco Malfoy impression. Oh well. Now was the time to tighten up as she faced The Next Round. The nurse knocked on a large wooden door, and a voice announced that it was okay to come in.

"Hello, sir. This woman is requesting to see a patient I cannot find record of us having. She wanted to speak to you." The nurse's voice was meek, and Ginny could see why. The man seated behind the massive mahogany desk looked more like that famous muggle Arnold Schwarzenegger than who she would have expected to see as the authority figure of St. Mungo's most important (and profitable) floor. He looked much more like brawn than brain, and judging from the frown on his lips, he was not the most welcoming of executives.

The nurse rushed out, pulling the door shut behind her before he could speak. His frown deepened.

"I can assure you, madam, that if there is no record of a patient being here, that person is not here." His voice was marked by condescension. Trying to emulate the cold look in Draco's eyes when he did not approve of something, she walked towards the desk.

"I am here to see Narcissa Malfoy," she replied calmly. His face betrayed nothing as he laid his hands on the desk and shrugged. It was such a rude, unprofessional gesture that Ginny bristled. No one would ever shrug that way at Draco.

"I cannot help you because she is not a patient here at St. Mungo's."

"Sir," Ginny began in a soft, sly voice, taking a seat in the plush chair across from his desk. The image of the file, showing no evidence of Narcissa ever spending time in St. Mungo's, and then of Hermione in her office, speaking earnestly, both floated to the surface of her thoughts. Who did she trust more: the wizarding government who wrote her paychecks and supposedly protected the entire wizarding world or the backstabbing bitch who stole her boyfriend not too terribly long ago?

Was it bad that the answer was, in fact, the backstabbing bitch herself?

Even if it was bad, she was going to go out on a limb anyway.

"Sir, I am entirely aware that under public knowledge, Narcissa Malfoy is not a patient here, but I am not speaking from public knowledge. I am Ginevra, Draco's fiancée," she paused, feigning a cold surprise as if her next thought had just occurred to her. "Oh, perhaps you are unaware that Draco and I are engaged," The lie fell off her tongue all too easily. She felt little shocked by it, but none of that shock showed itself on her face. "But I am happy to clear up the matter for you. I know that Narcissa Malfoy is here, and when I ask to see her from now on, I expect to be directed there immediately."

His face twisted unpleasantly, a frown contorting his lips like a slug beginning to shrivel up and die in the sun. She watched him struggle between his desire to tell her to get the hell out of his office and his fear that she really was going to be Mrs. Draco Malfoy and would have his job for his impertinence. She liked this power thing. Being a Weasley had never (and probably would never) possess this kind of clout. It was damn great. Finally, he grunted and stood up.

"This way, ma'am," he growled, obviously concerned about the decision he was making. Triumph roared like a lion in her head, but regret nipped sharply on its heels. There were too many lies layering their way into her life. Holding her head up higher, she shooed away the regret. She was not changing; she was merely playing in a different arena now and learning how to keep up. The director led her down long corridors, through doors that only seemed to open to the touch of his own wand. It gave off the distinct impression that no one was supposed to be here.

Then it happened; suddenly, they were standing in a private ward, with nurses buzzing around a sick bed like worker bees. The woman on the bed was unmistakably Narcissa Malfoy but not at all how Ginny remembered her from childhood. Her long blonde hair was sickly, like depleted straw, and her skin looked translucent, so pale that the veins beneath the surface threatened to push through and spill all her blood onto the white sheets she lay on. Ginny recognized a modified Bubble-Head Charm was on her to aid her breathing. The woman on the sheet could not be the Malfoy queen; it just felt impossible.

In an instant, though, Ginny knew that Hermione had lied to her. This creature looked half-dead; there was no way she was too distraught by news of Draco and Ginny to eat or sleep. This creature could probably do nothing but sleep and probably could only eat with assistance on the best of days.

"As you can see, we are following the most stringent requirements for her care, and she is remaining steady. Why, she even squeezed a nurse's hand just this morning, I believe." The director's false bravado annoyed Ginny as she stood there in a swirl of confusion. Why was there no record of this obviously very ill woman being here? Why had Draco not simply told her that his mother was in St. Mungo's? Why had Hermione lied to get her to come here? Was Hermione one of the nurses on this team?

"That's excellent news," she murmured distractedly, moving towards the bed where Mrs. Malfoy lay.

"We are working very hard for her, just as your family wishes,"

She waved a hand. "You seem to be doing a very good job, sir. We appreciate your hard work." He smiled, appreciative of praise bestowed from even a future Malfoy. Malfoys paid their bills and then some when it came to the wizarding world. "I must ask, though. Has Hermione Granger been working in this ward?"

The director immediately shook his head fervently. "No! We would never disrespect Mr. Malfoy's wishes that way! It is only the approved team of nurses and staff. You can assure him that Ms. Granger does not even know of this ward's existence." He looked frightened, and Ginny felt a pang of shame. He was afraid of having displeased the mighty Malfoys, and she could not say she blamed him for that. She reached out to touch his arm.

"Excellent work. I have seen all I need to see this evening. I will tell Draco that everything is perfectly satisfactory."

"I'm glad you feel that way, madam! Give Mr. Malfoy my best." He was flushed with relief.

"Oh I will." Ginny turned away to start walking, suddenly struck by the terrible burden of all this new knowledge, all these new questions. It had been easier to believe that he was just Satan, flitting about in the uncomplicated world of sin.

But Satan could not have a mother lying in a hospital bed like that. It was finally proven. Draco Malfoy was human.

X

When Ginny arrived at Malfoy Manor that evening, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong. There was no greeting as she walked in the door, no stir inside the mansion, and the butterflies in the pit of her stomach soared up to wheel in frantic circles in her throat. She had cleaned up, put on fresh clothes and come over, enthused about eating good food, spending time with Draco and not thinking about the new mystery that she had injected into her life. That was obviously not what was going to happen tonight, though. The silence felt ominous.

"Draco?" She finally called out, ashamed to hear a tremor in her voice.

"I am in the kitchen, Miss Weasley," his voice called back. It was dull, cold, and low. She rounded the bend of the hallway and stepped through the double doors into the kitchen. Draco Malfoy was seated at the table. It should have been a very similar picture to how he was this morning, seated there with his coffee, but instead, it was another sight entirely. Morning Draco's Evil Twin had come to town. His hair was rumpled, his tie undone, his jacket tossed haphazardly over another chair. His eyes glowed – no, smoldered – as he looked up at her, and clutched in his hand was not an innocuous coffee mug but a generous tumbler full of rich liquor. His clothes, his hair… she had never seen him look disheveled before now. He looked like a fallen angel right now, decadently beautiful but harsh, angry. The sight took her breath away on more than one level.

"Isn't it a little early in the evening to be drinking?" She managed, and he looked down at his glass thoughtfully. "How much have you had?"

He shrugged. "How much has he had?" She demanded of a passing house elf, who just squeaked and raced away. She turned back to him.

"I have had five glasses," he replied, voice low and venomous. She looked at the glass in his hand. It was much too large for drinking hard liquor, let alone multiple glasses of it.

"Merlin's beard, Draco. You must be right drunk!" She dropped into the chair across from him, surprised at the very thought. Draco was too collected of a person to have the ability to get drunk, in her opinion. She tried to imagine him stumbling along the sidewalk of Diagon Alley, carousing and singing drinking songs, and found the image so absolutely impossible that his imagined face disappeared off his imagined body, which somehow became fat, until the image was not Draco at all. See? Impossible to imagine.

"I am not. Just inebriated enough to be too clumsy to take your head off with my bare hands," His voice was a growl. "I set out to get that inebriated before you got here in order to protect you, though God only knows why I should do that."

"What?" She jerked backwards involuntarily. No man had ever threatened violence against her before, not that she really believed Draco would have ever taken her head off with his bare hands.

"How _dare_ you invade my privacy in such a way as you have today, my dear fiancée?" He spat out the last word poisonously, and she knew in an instant that he knew everything. Of course, that director would have contacted Draco about her visit, just to double check. She looked at his blazing eyes, his strong fingers clenching his glass of whisky. It was hard to swallow, but she did, and she forced her eyes to meet his, forced up Gryffindor courage that she only half-had in the face of this anger.

"I did nothing wrong." Her jaw was set stubbornly.

"It was none of your business!" He roared, slamming his glass down on the table. Their eyes locked again, and she felt a harsh, fiery flare of anger. How dare he think that he could put fingers and a tongue inside of her, let alone any other more exciting parts of him, and completely freeze her out of his life? Perhaps she should care that he was deceiving the Ministry or something like that, but she was just angry for her very own selfish reasons. She deserved to be let into his life more than this.

"When I'm sharing your bed, having you home for dinner at The Burrow, kissing your mouth, spending all my spare time with you, I deserve some sodding honesty, not the bullshit lines you feed other people!"

"Who fed you a bullshit line? I just didn't feel the need to let you into every aspect of my personal life."

"Only your bed!"

"We're only dating because you considered it a satisfactory alternative to just satisfying the terms of my bet immediately," he informed her coldly, rising to his feet. In her anger, she was satisfied to see him swaying ever-so-slightly on wobbly legs as he advanced on her. "It does not give you the right to know anything about my life." His voice was solid ice, however, with no wobble at all.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Malfoy. You're not mad at me for looking into this matter. You're mad at me because I won't play your games exactly the way you want them played. If I walked out of this room right this second and never came back, you'd be upset. Dare I say it? You. Might. Even. Cry," she hissed, leaping to her feet.

"I would only be rid of a nosy, foul-mouthed, inferior, coarse blood traitor bitch." She could hear the cracking of the ice in his voice, though.

"And I would be rid of an arrogant, close-minded, stupid son of a bitch who's only good for his money and his more base charms!" She retorted heatedly. "Any of the more charming qualities I thought I saw in you must have been fake because a man who possessed those qualities would not leave his sick mother rotting in a back ward of St. Mungo's."

She paused and narrowed her eyes. "And he also would not have lied to me this morning about why his mother did not live here."

"Ah, now we see the real bone our selfish little Weasley wants to pick. You are only upset because you feel like I lied to you," He stepped backward, leaning against the wall for support. His eyes no longer looked as icy now. Instead, he looked terribly, terribly tired and more than a little drunk. He was feeling the whisky even more than she had originally thought.

"Do you want the truth, Ginevra? You want me to tell you every painful, horrific detail?" Now his voice was anguished, and she stepped backward. She shook her head slowly.

"You lost the choice. Sit down, Ginevra. I am going to tell you," he said coldly, his voice a punishment all its own. Suddenly trembling, she sat down. He looked tortured. No longer just a decadent fallen angel, now he looked as if God were punishing him for his misdeeds, as if his soul were burning through him from the inside out. His eyes glowed, not with anger but with pain. She hated it in an instant. This was not Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy could never look this tortured. Except that he did. Anger completely forgotten, she reached for his hand, wanting to apologize, perhaps to stem the tide of the words that she knew were about to force their way out of him. He did not allow her to take his hand before he started speaking.

"Several years ago, as you know, no doubt thanks to public opinion and your research into my family today, the Wizenmagot sentenced my father to life in Azkaban for his crimes against the wizarding world with Lord Voldemort. After his sentence, he was permitted to come to the Manor one last time, accompanied by two Dementors, to see my mother. They used an Attachment Charm to allow him access to only my mother and to prevent his escape, as if the promise of a Dementor's Kiss was not enough for that already." He laughed bitterly.

"I was here, in the Manor, but because of the particular nature of the charm, and my dislike of Dementors, I chose to remain upstairs in my room. I heard my father's familiar heavy footfalls, heard my mother crying, begging him not to go. She loved him so much, damn her. Would have gone to Azkaban herself just to waste away at his side if they would have let her. Suddenly, the sounds downstairs changed, and I heard her scream. When I got downstairs, my mother was lying on the floor. There was blood, and she was screaming, and my father was being restrained by Dementors," Draco lifted his eyes to Ginny's, and she shivered at the cold, hard pain shining in them.

"He had grabbed her wand and tried to kill her. Killing her would have ended the Attachment Charm and given him a chance at escape. Her life meant that little to him apparently. It was worth killing her to have a minimal chance at escape…" He shook his head. "It was disgusting. I have never again seen its like for absolute selfishness. The Dementors took him away. He was already sentenced to life, so attempted murder could not lengthen his sentence, and the Kiss is only for those who attempt to escape. So, he was taken to Azkaban."

"My mother… at first, it was home care, but she deteriorated being here in this house. She could no longer speak eventually, barely even touched consciousness anymore. I think she gave up, suspended between not wanting to live without my father and unable to live here with the knowledge that this Manor was where he tried to kill her. So, I paid St. Mungo's handsomely, still do, for them to build a private ward for her. For the occasional photo opportunity, I brew a Polyjuice Potion and allow 'Narcissa' to be spotted shopping about London or visiting the Ministry about some matter or another. It is not," he spoke fiercely, "for my father that I worked so hard to create and maintain the elaborate secret. It is for my mother. It is impossible to bear the thought of the world knowing that my mother, my dear mother who has always wanted the best for her family, basically died at the hands of her husband. She may be just a shell of a person now, but that shell has private care, a private ward and the ability to sleep in peace until she passes away."

He sat down in the chair across from her, and whether it was emotion or liquor that slurred his next words, Ginny would never know. He leaned forward, and she smelled whisky and his cologne.

"I will not let you judge me for that."

She was at a loss for words. There was no question that it was all the truth; nothing about him was capable of lying right now. Now she reached out for his hand again, and he let her take it. There was no anger left crackling in the air. Only shock and sadness and the cold feel of shame creeping down Ginny's spine remained.

"Draco…" She murmured. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have pried into your business. You were right."

His blonde head dropped to rest on their intertwined hands, and Ginny felt stark, overwhelming tenderness for him, this man who put up a front for the world to protect his mother, this boy who had to witness the horrors of his father. He had come home early, in shock and anger that she had known his secret and taken to the bottle to calm himself before she arrived. Despite how hard he seemed to want to think otherwise, this Malfoy was no villain. She stroked the soft hair, fingers combing through the snarls that his fingers must have made earlier. The tenderness fluttered against her heart like butterfly wings.

"Now you know," she heard him say weakly.

"Now I know," she echoed, continuing to stroke his head. They sat there for what felt like an eternity, just touching and resting in silence, healing from the harsh words spoken earlier. Finally, he looked up. His eyes, at last, were a little unfocused as if after the fighting and the explanation, he had finally succumbed to the alcohol.

"You confound me, Ginny," Her eyes widened because she had never heard him say her nickname before, only her full, formal name, "Fifty thousand Galleons is starting to not sound like enough for sex with you, if it is going to be accompanied by all this meddling and name calling."

She frowned, feeling stung, but then a strangely clumsy hand reached up to touch her cheek. "But I'll be damned if I don't want you around, meddling and name calling and all. I think you've bewitched me, you crafty Weasel."

It was hard not to giggle at this uncharacteristically earnest, playful comment, slurring slightly from his drunken mouth. She smiled. "What can I say? I suppose I'm partial to ferret."

To her surprise, he laughed and kissed her cheek. "Good. Now help me to bed, you meddling bitch. I think my feet are full of whisky."

* * *

**AN:** Well, I hope you enjoyed a somewhat more serious chapter than we have been previously been dealing with, so I am going to need your reviews more than ever to know what you think of it. Anyway, I actually quite enjoyed writing it, so I hope you enjoyed reading it. Remember: Silent reading does not help me figure out what's going right/what's going wrong. Thank you!


	7. Chapter 7

Her life had been reduced to the simple tick of a stopwatch frantically racing in the background. Three weeks and four days were gone out of the month they had bet on, the month they had together. Ginny could have easily walked away from the sexy, recklessly rich bachelor who strolled into her office and propositioned her that first day of this bet, but now… she was feeling less sure she could just stroll away from the sexy, recklessly rich, surprisingly witty, and shockingly intoxicating boyfriend she was dating. Draco Malfoy was as bad as a drug, it seemed. Their terrible fight in the kitchen and his drunken revelations seemed a lifetime ago. Since then, there had been long, delicious dinners out, trips to the theatre to see her favorite band, evenings in the Manor, curled up together reading, and nights spent curled up together in bed. Sparkling in all those memories were an array of dizzying kisses, tender embraces, witty conversations, sexcapades that never actually fulfilled the terms of the bet, and a lot of affectionate tossing-around of the word bitch.

Now it was a beautiful Saturday morning, all sunshine and fluffy white clouds and soft sprigs of green grass tufting out of the ground beneath blossoming trees. Or maybe Ginny just saw it that way because she was happy. Even with that stopwatch running in the background of her mind, she was happy. The sunlight was streaming through the kitchen window, warming her back as she sat on the counter. The house elves were gone – she had suggested they have a day off, and even though Draco had looked very puzzled by the concept, he had acquiesced – and she was seated on the polished counter, swinging her legs and laughing at the paint swatches Draco was holding up.

"I'm not painting your living room," she said, shaking her head. Wayward strands of her red hair tumbled out of her jaw clip around her face, and she frowned, pursing her mouth and blowing upwards to get a strand out of her eyes.

"You dismissed my house elves on a weekend when they had a full schedule of painting to be done," he replied reasonably, even though the corner of his mouth was twitching as if he wanted to laugh. "So pick a color and put on something you don't mind getting paint on."

She looked at the swatches in his hand, one pale green and one pale blue, and made a face. Then her eyes dropped to the several swatches in his other hand, the ones not being offered as an option. "I like the darker one, with the sort of red hue,"

"You would. Ginevra, this color does not match the furniture and is not an option for the living room," he informed her, looking down at the terracotta-colored swatch to make sure.

"The furniture in there is so old anyway. You don't even like the room now. You could get new furniture,"

"The furniture in there is _antique_, not just old, and for someone who grew up in abject poverty, you would think you would jump less on the idea of getting rid of perfectly serviceable furniture just to change a room's color."

"I didn't grow up in _abject_ poverty. I just didn't have a silver spoon shoved up my ass."

"Your language, Ginevra. So coarse," he lamented, rolling his silvery blue eyes. She grinned. His sense of humor was never going to lose its sarcastic, insulting qualities, but it had certainly grown on her. He was a formidable challenge. Suddenly, he tossed the terracotta paint swatch at her. "Paint my living room terracotta or whatever the hell you want. I'll buy new furniture."

She laughed. "Are you developing a soft spot?"

"No, I'm developing the good sense to know that spending money hand over fist is worth it if it stops your nagging," he replied. "Now, go put on your painting clothes, Miss Weasley. I'll go get the paint, and we will meet back here in the Manor in… twenty minutes."

Ginny did not fail to notice that before he Disapparated, he completely ignored the fact that she had said she would not paint his living room. With a good-natured sigh, she lifted her wand. With all the back and forth between her apartment and his Manor, it was starting to seem like even Apparating was too time-consuming. She would rather just walk upstairs to get her clothes… but that would mean moving in, and the stopwatch in the background was showing only three days remaining.

X

"Have at it," Draco Malfoy was lounging on his couch when she returned to the Manor, with two pails of paint sitting on the floor, along with paint brushes and rollers and pans and ladders. His elbows were bent, his head resting on his hands, and he feigned a yawn as if he were about to take a nap. Ginny had obediently put on paint clothes while he was gone, wearing a pair of faded old jean shorts and a giant grey tee shirt, vaguely emblazoned with the name of a muggle charity, but just because she had shown a small level of submission did not mean she was totally giving in.

"Get up and go put on old clothes. You're going to help me," she announced, clapping her hands together briskly. He raised an eyebrow.

"Lovely, lovely Ginevra… I do not do menial labor in my own Manor, surrounded by servants, or in this case, when my girlfriend is going to do it to make up for being a nosy bitch two weeks ago."

She moved over to the couch and leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "Your girlfriend has been making that up to you for two weeks," the purr in her voice leaving no question as to how she had been making that up to him. "In fact… if I remember correctly, we are tied."

"It's childish to keep track of orgasms," he scoffed.

"You started it," she replied, holding out her hand. "Now get up and go put on old clothes. We'll paint this room and then do something more fun this evening."

"Do I get to choose the 'more fun activity' or do you?"

"You can choose,"

"Okay," he rose to his feet slowly, stretching out his muscles, and she admired the way his body stretched and moved under his clothes. Over three weeks with him had helped her reign in some of the hormones that made her incapable of appropriately functioning around him, but it had made other hormone flares much worse. Now it wasn't just his body or the wicked twinkle in his eyes that turned her on; it was the whole package, no pun intended, and that made the flares of desire all the more potent. "I'll be right back. At least open the paint cans without me, you lazy girl."

"Hurry up, rich boy," she countered, bending down to pry the lids off of the paint cans. She loved the color; it was rich and earthy. It would bring vibrancy and life to the living room. The bathrooms and bedroom she admired so much upstairs were in contrast to the rest of the house, which like this living room, were pale, dull colors and old furniture. Of course, she knew it was not her home and therefore it was silly to spend so much thought process on what she liked about it and what she didn't.

She was stirring the paint when Draco Malfoy came back in the room, and her heart stopped for a second.

"What are those?" She asked, gaping. He was wearing jeans splattered with multi-colored stains, with a tattered hole ripped out of the left knee, and a white tee-shirt stretched across his chest, also stained. He was even barefoot.

"Painting clothes."

"You… what… you… whose are those?" She spluttered, still gaping. He walked over to her, put a finger under her chin and pushed upward to close her open mouth. His eyes were amused as they met hers.

"They're mine, Ginevra," he said quietly. She reached over to tug on the shirt, stretching a handful of it closer to look at a stain. It looked genuine, almost like a wood stain had spilled on the shirt. Looking back up at him, she frowned as if betrayed.

"How did this get here?" She attempted to wave his shirt with its most prominent stain at his face, which just resulted in jerking him around awkwardly for a second before he grabbed her hands and pulled his shirt out of her grasp.

"From working on the house," he replied, promptly turning away and picking up a paint can to fill a tray but not before she spotted amusement twitching at the corners of his mouth again. Marching over, she also picked up a paintbrush and stuck it into the paint aggressively while the wheels in her head turned furiously. Draco Malfoy worked on the house enough to own stained, bedraggled work clothes. Of all the revelations about his personality and his lack of evilness and the (un?)fortunate discovery that he was not actually the Devil incarnate, this revelation was the most shocking. He knew how to work around a house? How did he keep those hands so nice if he did real work? The questions, inane and somehow even more inane, swirled in her head for seemingly no reason.

"Ginny?" He queried as he set up his ladder and climbed up with a tray full of paint and a roller. "It's not like you to stay silent for more than two seconds unless you're asleep."

She looked down at the rich terracotta paint, so unlike the downstairs with its pale colors but not so unlike the upstairs, with its elaborate carvings and rich, dramatic jewel tones. Perhaps that was why he had agreed to it so quickly… He had done those bathrooms himself. That upstairs she admired so much was his handiwork. She looked at him in fresh shock.

"Draco Malfoy, you lying bastard," she said with an odd expression on her face, looking up at him. He looked surprised for an instant but then seemed to recognize the realization on her face, and he climbed back down off of the ladder.

"Be reasonable. I did not lie. You never asked me about my housework activities. I certainly don't do laundry, after all," he replied calmly, holding out his arms to her as he spoke. She shook her head. An odd feeling was in her chest, pressing on her lungs, making it hard to breathe. Something strange was happening to her insides, constricting them, and another realization, even more dramatic than the realization that Draco Malfoy soiled his hands by doing his own painting, was coming towards her from somewhere far away in the back of her mind.

"You lied to me," she said. He seemed alarmed, in the same helpless-cornered-animal way as he had the night she had fake-cried in his foyer. "You lied to me for my entire life."

"What?" He was thoroughly confused now, Ginny could tell, but she did not care. She was just hitting her stride. She frenetically waved her paintbrush in the air, sending terracotta paint flying in a dramatic splatter on his neck. An unnoticed (at least by her) plop also fell on her hair.

"You _lied_ to me. All my fucking life I've thought you were an arrogant, careless, reckless, heartless, stupid, lazy, rich bastard who was evil and stupid and hateful…" She felt a sudden surge of anger, unexpected and inexplicable. "You lied to me! All this time! You are generous with money, not reckless, you have a great sense of humor, you would do anything for your mother, you protected me when my family was mean to me, you treat me right, you know how to be polite and charming not just because Satan employs those charms but because you actually _are_, you get grouchy in the mornings just like human beings, you are amazing in bed so I'm sure sex with you is bloody amazing, you don't support your father and all that evil shit, and…" She drew up, suddenly close to angry tears. "You _paint your own fucking house!_"

"Ginny…" He was utterly bewildered now, trying to reach out for her even as she swatted his hands away.

"You misrepresented yourself! You lied! If I had always known, I could have stayed far, far away from you so that we wouldn't be standing here like this right now!" Her voice climbed into hysterically high notes, and apparently willing to conquer his fear of hysterical females for Ginny, Draco finally caught a hold of her, gripping her arms, looking searchingly into her face with frantic eyes.

"What in God's name are you talking about, Ginny?" He demanded. Her warm eyes, wild around the edges with fear, locked on his, and that realization that had been approaching from the back of her mind finally arrived, like dynamite in a mine shaft, blowing away all the denial she had been wrapping it in.

She had fallen in love with him. This was no longer just a fun fling, a step-outside-of-good-girl-Ginny. This was no longer even just a deal with the devil. This was her standing in front of a charismatic, handsome, compassionate, witty, challenging man she had fallen in love with after years of misjudgment.

Fuck. Her. Life.

"I love you, you stupid bloody Slytherin, and it's all your fault! If you hadn't lied and misrepresented yourself, I would have known to never make this bet with you and end up in this mess!" She blurted out, and suddenly, she was crying, tears blurring over her vision of his stony, shell-shocked face. She buried her head in his neck, smearing that terracotta paint she had splattered on him all over her nose as she cried. She was crying for her heart that had so foolishly tumbled into love with Draco Malfoy, crying for her inability to refrain from blurting things out in front of him, and crying for their relationship built on a bet that expired in three days. He wasn't even saying anything, just holding her and stroking her hair, probably because he knew that there was nothing comforting he could possibly say.

When he reached down and lifted her tearstained face to his, his eyes were blank before they closed as he lowered his mouth to hers. That blank look had not seemed like a good sign. His lips were hot, though, like a match to gasoline, and she rocked up into him hard, kissing him with a fiery desperation. His taste was a hit of heroin, like a cure to a disease she didn't even know she had. He gripped her hard against him, pulling her into his arms as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He was carrying her upstairs, and she was clinging to him as they kissed breathlessly. They were already tearing each other's clothes off as they tumbled onto the bed. There were no words to be said. Ginny's "I love you" still clung to the air between them, but they ignored it as they fumbled for one another.

It was as if subconsciously they knew this was the turning point. Once they started speaking, once words started flowing, things would change. The balance they had been living in would be gone, changed, and likely irreparable. The only way to stave off the change was not to speak.

So they did not speak, and unspoken, they both knew that either way, the bet no longer mattered. So this time, when they were both stripped down to nothing but hot, bare skin, they kissed with a new intensity. He ran his hands over her fiercely, and she pressed into him. The sudden, harsh arousal was so thick in the air that sweat had already broken out on their skin, glistening in tiny beads, as their mouths and hands devoured one another, as if any taste could be the very last, any touch could be goodbye. When his hand finally slid to the wet heat between her legs, she came undone under his touch, shaking her head and breaking the kiss to meet his eyes, now dark pools of desire.

"Not this time," she whispered, the first words spoken since her confession, and he nodded his understanding, kissing her again, pressing his weight closer to her. His kiss was hot and demanding but reassuring, his mouth whispering to hers – without words – all the promises of sexual pleasure and intimacy. His knee pushed her legs apart, and he entered her smoothly and surely, in one motion so gentle that Ginny hardly felt the intrusion until it was over, until there he was, hard and huge, inside of her. She gasped then, pressing her nose into his neck, smelling heated terracotta paint and the masculine scent of skin and sweat. He moved slowly, gently, but that did not mean the pleasure unfurling inside of her like a blossoming flower was slow or gentle. It filled her, heightened her senses, rocked her hips against him of their own will. He persisted in his gentle movements, persisted in his slow, certain rhythm, slowly feeling his way to her depths as she clung to him.

He moved his mouth down to one expectant breast, taking her nipple between his teeth even as he pushed into her very core, until he seemed to fill every inch of her, until all she could do was moan, a sound that sounded like a plea for more. He looked at her, and they read the pure height of sexuality stamped in each other's eyes, as he slid deep and slow, straight into her. Her moan followed his motion, rising louder and louder as he pushed until she believed he could push no further… and then he went just a millimeter further, and she lost it, the climb of her pleasure peaking and falling sharply even as gravity turned her loose. The orgasm rocked her to the core, heart and mind and body, but Draco did not let her simply fall.

As if fueled by her cry of pleasure and her sharp spiral into orgasm, his rhythm changed. He moved faster, harder, and she caught hold of him, fingers sinking into the hard bone of his shoulder blades as she clung to him as he forced her to climb again, rising again on that wave of pleasure. She heard her cries echoing through the room, moans that could have been mistaken for pain if ecstasy had not so clearly been the cause. His muscles were tightening against her, and she pulled him still closer, moved her lips to his ear and let her hot breath carry her moans straight to his ear, straight to his heart. This time, it would be together. He shuddered against her, his movement stalled, and suddenly her hips moved for them, pushing him into her, pulling him closer, taking over the rhythm.

_Not without you_, their bodies cried to one another, and world shook in cataclysmic loss of gravity as they fell together.

X

When Ginny's mind floated back from its journey through postorgasmic orbit, she was curled against his chest, lying in a tangle of sweaty arms and legs, two bodies breathing hard. What had just happened? One minute, she had been standing there, yelling at him for making her fall in love with him, and the next minute, they had been stumbling to bed as fast as they could, rushing into the act that she had been fantasizing about, burying it a blur of raw desire and intense, unsolved emotion. It didn't even make sense. Why had sex felt like the instant answer? Why had they both leapt immediately into bed?

And why were they still lying in silence except for their still-heavier-than-normal breathing?

She lifted her chin to look up at him, looking up to meet his eyes. They were stormy blue now, intense and aloof, and she felt the lack of warmth or intimacy there instinctively, like a cold chill to her bones. The silence felt heavy, like a velvet blanket around her head in summertime, but she dared not break it. He had begun it, hadn't he? He had kissed her instead of answering her when she blurted out her feelings.

Why had she done that? Why had she not been capable of showing restraint? She had been showing restraint for weeks now just by not jumping in the sack with him, and now, not only had she blown that wide open without thinking about it, she had done something much bigger. She had dropped the L bomb right on Malfoy Manor like the Germans had done to Britain in World War II, only then it had been a real bomb, not a figurative one. But it was still looking like this one had been just as destructive. The silence was speaking so loudly that Ginny wanted to cover her ears with her hands and scream to try to drown it out.

"You lost the bet with only three days left," his voice was strangely cold and dull, completely lacking the warmth or charisma that she had gotten so accustomed to.

A silence stretched out again until she managed enough air from her lungs to push seven words through her dry, constricted throat: "Is that all you have to say?"

The silence stretched out once more.

Finally, she stood up slowly. Suddenly her entire body no longer was in the glow of having just orgasmed; instead she felt black and blue as if he had beaten her from head to toe. How could he just sit there in silence? She looked down at her skin, streaked in terracotta paint from their bodies smearing it everywhere. It looked like she had been slashed by a velociorapter, leaving behind gaping, bloody wounds. She dressed slowly, moving as if in a horrible trance.

How was he sitting there in silence?

How was he failing to acknowledge any of what happened?

How had her beautiful Saturday gone so horribly wrong?

Once her shirt was back on, she turned to look at him, long and lean and naked, watching her with cloudy eyes.

"Looks like you won your bet," she said acidly, turning her back and walking out with tears welling up in her eyes. As she marched out, she stomped on the stairs, slamming her feet down as hard as she could, to hide the fact that her breathing was beginning to rush out in pre-sobbing gasps.

He did not come after her.

Not even when she hit the bottom of the stairs, stomped into the living room, picked up a paint can and hurled it with all her might onto the stairs.

Not even when she kicked over one of the ladders and spilled the other paint cans all over the polished floors.

Not even when she screamed before Disapparating.

Not even once she had been sitting in her apartment, shaking and waiting, for two hours.

He did not come after her at all.

* * *

**AN:** Okay... so I know this chapter was a kick in the gut, but I hope you still enjoyed it on some level for its storytelling qualities. This is a chapter I really, really need your feedback on. I know my game plan for what comes next, but I still really need you guys to tell me your opinions on this one. Thank you so so much!


	8. Chapter 8

Waiting three days to cope with pain is never a good idea, Ginny Weasley was deciding slowly, as she watched the glass of firewhisky in her hand blur in and out of focus. It was his fault anyway; he had been such a graceful, sinfully elegant drunk that she had decided that would be the most graceful way to ease the pain of realizing he was never coming after her. After three days of stumbling through her routine in a cloud of shock and denial, she had finally come home tonight, sat down, and pulled out a bottle of liquor. It had looked comforting, and after a little, it had felt comforting, too. It took the edge off the ache in her chest, turning it to dull, throbbing pain instead of something sharp in her heart. But after another several self-provided rounds of the hot liquid, she was back to square negative six: emotional agony.

She loved him. That stupid motherfucker. She loved him.

She was sitting on her couch, half-lying down and half-propping herself up on its arm. Her bottle of whisky was officially out of her reach, even though it was only about three feet away. That was three feet more than her body was willing to move, so the remaining liquid her glass was all she could get to, and since the glass was no longer sitting still (or her hand was moving – it was impossible to discern which one), the chances of her consuming it were looking unlikely. She tried to concentrate very hard on it so that she could at least get it to her lips to swallow it and avoid spilling it, but that level of concentration made her head hurt.

"Owwwww…" She groaned slowly and dropped the glass on the floor with a thud as she concentrated on making her mouth move in a sound of pain. Damn alcohol. Letting her head loll back over the arm of the couch, she closed her eyes, and the world's violent spinning slowed considerably. That was better.

Her thoughts were not so kind, though. The images of their bodies tangled, arms and legs and skin all wrapping into one being, followed by his coldness afterwards, raced through her brain, and the only way to chase them away was to allow an even more painful set of images to replace it. The Falling-In-Love montage. Laughing, heads bent together cozily, bickering, even arguing, like a real couple, dinners out with delicious food and intelligent conversation, that first dizzying kiss in his kitchen… those images were so incredibly sweet and sharp and painful that they made her want to struggle her way over to the bottle of whisky and indulge until she passed out.

Was he sitting at home perfectly okay, eating fine cuisine alone in his kitchen, with house elves waiting on him hand and foot? Or worse, was he eating with someone else, a pretty, new buxom blonde with a lilting laugh and sexy blue eyes? She closed her fists so tightly at that thought that her fingernails dug crescent-shaped indents into her palms. So, this is what it felt like to mean nothing to someone she loved. The pain of Harry cheating had been anger, white-hot anger and indignation and shame that something so degrading had happened to her. This was not anger or shame; this was pain. She just had to pray that anger and shame came along later.

What had she fallen in love with him for if this was how it was going to end, with her slumped on her couch, truly drunk for the first time in her life, soul stained with a footprint as if he had stepped on it and squashed it into the dirt?

There were no pictures, no papers, nothing to document that they had ever been anything. How had she been so foolish, to let herself fall in love when they had just been two smiles in the dark when it came down to it?

"You'readamnfoolGinevraWeasley," she muttered in a dark slur, tapping her toe to an inaudible beat and lapsing into silence and relative numbness, welcoming the return of a little bit of the shock.

A knock on the door jarred her attempts at finding peace, and she frowned, forcing her eyelids open.

_I have to answer the door_, the thought felt fairly cohesive so she felt compelled to obey it. She slowly eased herself upright into a sitting position, swaying slightly. _I've got this_, she thought as she toppled over sideways onto the floor with a loud thud.

"Ginny, are you okay?" The voice of the person at the door shouted. It was familiar, but her fuzzy brain could not place it. In a raging internal debate, her body tried to decide whether to just collapse there on the floor for the night or hands-and-knees her way to the door. Some drunken part of her mind deemed crawling more polite, so she began a precarious task of crawling/dragging her unusually heavy body (damn alcohol) across the floor until the door was so close it bumped her nose. Then, in a climbing task to rival tackling Everest, she scaled her way to the doorknob and opened it.

"Helllooo," she murmured, looking up into eyes that were green, not pale blue, and a face that was concerned, instead of smiling. "What're youdoin here, Harrrrry?"

"I came to talk to you, Gin," he sounded taken aback by the state she was in, and she was suddenly too tired to try to explain. She just held her arms up weakly and let him take them to help her up. In the sudden relief of warm arms supporting her, she let herself pass out.

X

Coming to felt slow and painful, and her eyes opened so slowly that for the first few seconds, she could see nothing through them. Then a lightning scar and emerald eyes came into focus. Harry was holding a wet cloth to her forehead, looking at her concerned. She recognized the look, a look a parent gives a child who has scared them badly. Remembering throwing firewhisky at him, she could have felt a little sheepish. Instead, she had to focus on trying to understand the words coming from his moving lips.

"… never drink like this," he was finishing his sentence, brow furrowing.

"M'heart's broken," she mumbled, tongue heavy and fuzzy.

"No, it's not, Gin. C'mon, you're better than letting Malfoy get to you like this,"

"N'm not. Draco was…" She closed her eyes again as the flood of images assaulted her again.

"It never would have worked out anyway. It's better this way, with you two ending it before either of you could get really hurt."

Ginny tried to imagine what being "really hurt" would feel like if this agony wasn't it. Harry should have known she had tried to convince herself of every angle about why she did not really love him or why it could never have worked out, but none of them rang true. It could have worked; she had felt that. They fit together, fire and ice to one another, perhaps, but they did fit. She was certain of that; it had been Draco who had failed them, not their ability to be together. His cold silence, finally followed by too-cold words, had destroyed them.

"I fell'n love w'him," she whispered suddenly, fiercely. The planes of Harry's face seemed to furrow in surprise and pain. Apparently the idea of his ex-girlfriend loving anyone else was still repugnant. Ginny started to cry. To admit it so bluntly, honestly, in front of Harry, who had once done her so wrong, was insult to injury. She just needed someone to hold her as the big, fat teardrops raced down her cheeks. "I fell so'n love w'him that I'cannot bear't."

"Shh, you're not making any sense," Harry finally managed a strained whisper, and she reached out for his hand, struggling her way closer to him. Understanding her unspoken cue, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. She cried into the warmth until she fell asleep.

X

In the morning, all that remained were the pounding headache, the nauseous feeling in her stomach, and a note on her bedside table in Harry's childish scrawl. It read, _Feel better, Gin. We will owl you tonight about making some plans. You can't spend another night in._ She frowned; how dare Harry think he could tell her what to do just because he had marched into her apartment when she was most vulnerable? Besides, it had been too long since she went out with "them," the Golden Trio even after everything. She had always been a little bit of an outside, but now Draco was on and under her skin. It felt like the Dark Mark, a stain excluding her even further from the group. She thought of his bright blue eyes and did not mind that stain. Then she thought of his cold voice and their bet, and she did mind.

"I'm taking a mental health day," she murmured, rubbing her temples and sighing. "If I don't, I may actually kill someone."

So, with that decision made, Ginny took a shower, dried and curled her hair, and put on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt. She was going to go shopping; that always made her feel better, even if it made her wallet feel a whole lot worse. New shoes sounded particularly good, some brightly-colored, candy-loud heels that would make her legs look a mile long and her spirits brighter. Yes, that was what she would do. Spend a day shopping.

Walking out into the kitchen, she put some tea on to brew. The temptation to pour vodka in it to go ahead and imbibe the hangover with the alcohol it wanted was getting pretty great, so she fought it off by eating a bagel. Leaning on the counter, she felt like melancholy dumpee in a modern painting, put-together but somehow still sloppy and eating her troubles away. When a knock on the apartment door got her attention, she just frowned. Why in God's name was this suddenly a hotspot? Couldn't everyone just leave her alone?

"Come in if you're not Harry," she called out and instantly regretted speaking so loudly because it made her headache pound uncomfortably again. The apartment door swung open, and there were Ron and Hermione. Apparently, the whole Golden Trio was going to visit her in her wallowing. The joys of being the baby Weasley were never-ending sometimes.

"Harry's been here?" Hermione asked in a curiously strangled voice, and Ginny, who should have felt a stab of satisfaction, just felt the urge to correct Hermione's obvious misunderstanding. It was a bitch to be over the whole Harry-cheating-on-her thing just when it would have been exciting ammunition against Hermione, who had also, come to think of it, been the cause of her and Draco's colossal fight over Narcissa.

"He came by last night to see if I was doing okay since the breakup," she said calmly, maturely, hating that she had lost the ability to be backbiting just now. Hermione, however, did not look as relieved as she should have. In fact, now Ginny noticed that she and Ron both looked terribly uncomfortable. He was fidgeting ever-so-slightly from one foot to the other, and Hermione was twirling a bushy strand of hair on a nervous finger. Pouring herself a cup of tea, too hungover and selfish to offer them a cup, she took a sip, burned her tongue and cursed profusely. They looked unaffected and as continually nervous, and she frowned.

"Okay… what's going on?" She asked, leaning against the counter and trying her best Draco Malfoy-style stare-down. They shifted uncomfortably again.

"Well, Ginny, there was a reason I came to you about Narcissa…" Hermione began, but she was abruptly cut off as Ron, face beet-red, jerked forward and blurted out,

"Hermione and I are back together!"

Ginny looked at them in surprise, eyes darting from one twitchy third of the famous trio to another. It just showed how out of the loop she had been; she had not known that Harry and Hermione or Ron and Miranda were broken up. Draco had been one time-consumin' bastard, hadn't he? She thought of Harry coming by to talk last night and how she had been too drunk to even find out what. Maybe he had been coming by about the breakup?

"When did you two become single again?" Suddenly the sheepish look between them, fraught with guilt, spoke volumes, and Ginny was truly shocked. "No!"

"We didn't mean for it to happen!" Hermione wailed. "I was trying to explain to you… I had realized a while ago that I had made a big mistake leaving Ron, and he had been so worried about you dating Malfoy that I dug around for a way to break you two up, and I found out about Narcissa and decided to take a chance that that would mess things up for you and Malfoy, but when it didn't, I went to talk to Ron anyway, and when I was explaining how I felt, he just grabbed me and kissed me and said he wanted me back… now… and…"

"Oh my god, I can tell this story ends up in bed, so please don't tell me anymore!" Ginny's poor hungover head was spinning even faster now. Ron and Hermione were cheating on their significant others? What had Harry come over here for last night then? Did no one respect the sanctity of her wallowing over a broken heart? Did they have to drag her into their Hogwarts-style drama of relationships going awry… while she dealt with her more grown-up problem of a romantic bet gone awry? Well, damn, when thought of that way, they were all a passel of overgrown children.

"How're we going to tell Harry?" Ron bemoaned. Hermione seemed a little calmer, Ginny supposed because she had been in this whole cheating situation before.

"How're you going to tell Miranda?" Ginny reminded him, unable to resist a playful jab but feeling a little guilty for it when Ron breathed in sharply as if she had punched him in the chest and crumpled to the floor. Hermione looked down at him and then weakly patted his gingery head as if unsure how to comfort him.

"We came to tell you because Harry suggested we ALL go out tonight. The four of us. So… we were kinda hoping…" Now Hermione flushed a red to rival Ron's. "Maybe, since you're single again, you could kinda… flirt with Harry again. Remind him of…"

Ginny's eyes widened. "Remind him of what?" Her voice turned caustic. She took a sip of tea to prevent her from saying anything else until that question was answered.

"Not of you two!" Hermione revised hastily. "More like… reminding him of how much fun he might have with someone else… besides me… again…"

Ginny stared at the couple in front of her. Ron was back on his feet, and he had slipped Hermione's tiny hand into his, stroking his thumb across hers. They had been fighting and breaking up and making up and loving each other since they were kids, honestly. She thought of Draco, their laughter and banter. Shouldn't at least someone be happy? She sighed.

"Alright, I'll do it," she conceded, managing a half-smile. The soon-to-be-happy couple grinned at each other.

"Thanks, Gin. You're a lifesaver! I know it's really not right of us to ask so soon after you and Malfoy broke up…" Hermione gushed. "But thank you so much!"

"You're a great sister, Ginny! We'll all meet for dancing and drinks tonight, and it'll fix everything!" Ron announced, obviously forgetting his anguish from just a few minutes before in his delight that it was all working out according to plan.

Suddenly, the couple was gone, rushing out the door, planning and laughing hand in hand, and Ginny was standing there, frowning.

_Life's a bitch and then you die_, Ginny thought, taking a swig of tea and burning her mouth again.

X

Sometime during the day that should have been full of shoe shopping but instead resulting in reading a crappy novel in her apartment, Ginny walked into her room, opened her closet door and pulled out the marvelous emerald dress that Draco had bought her the night of their first date. Heavens, it was beautiful. She thought of how radiant she had looked in it, how his eyes had glinted with wicked appreciation, and how it had revealed her first glimpses of his smile… and suddenly she had picked up a pair of scissors and was carving it up. It was not true mutilation… no, it was worse. It was an overhaul.

She put it on and redid her hair when it was almost time to leave. The mirror itself seemed to smile at her. As long as one did not look at her eyes, which were cool and sad, she looked smoldering. The dress no longer had straps, just a wicked sweetheart neckline; it no longer had a gauzy graceful skirt. Instead, it was short, with a wicked slit up the side, revealing creamy white thigh. It was a sexbomb dress, and she felt better than ever putting it on. Take that, Draco Malfoy. She could be anything she wanted, even in the dress he had bought her. Her red curls were a fiery frame to the Draco-like smirk on her lips, and she was headed out for a night of not giving a damn about him… even if it killed her.

When she Apparated into the heart of London and marched into the bar, in a dress that was a little too hot and heels a little too high, she felt the first wonderful surge of anger. Thank God. The Weasley temper was kicking in. How _dare_ Draco Malfoy do this to her! The inside of the Golden Trio's favorite nightclub was hectic and colorful and vibrant, but it was not as eye-catching as Ginny herself as she strolled in, spotted her companions for the evening, and took a seat beside Harry. His jaw was a little dropped, and even Hermione and Ron looked surprised.

"Hey," she said simply, reaching for the drink sitting in front of Harry and carelessly taking a sip.

"Gin… you look…" Harry's eyes were wide. "Really nice."

"Thank you, Harry," she replied with a gracious smile, though the compliment strangely held no warmth for her. Chatting began, and the surprise at Ginny's dramatic dress and devilish smirk passed as they sipped alcohol, buzzed lightly, and laughed at the littlest things. Sometimes she thought she saw Ron reach to touch Hermione a little too intimately for just friends, but Harry didn't seem to notice. He seemed too enchanted by Ginny's smile, cleavage, and fierce determination to have a good time in spite of a heart she had told him was broken.

"Harry, do you mind if I borrow your girlfriend for a dance?" Ron asked finally, enough liquid courage in his system to be brave.

"Only if I can borrow your sister," Harry admonished with a smile, and both men stood up and held out their hands to the women closest to them. Ginny put her hand in Harry's and let him lead her onto the dance floor. The song was slower than she would have liked, but she gamely rested her head on his shoulder and let him guide her around the floor almost gracefully. He was hardly the same clumsy dancer as in the Yule Ball days when it had been Neville who had graced the floor and Harry who sat out. Now Mr. Potter was quite the dancer himself. It was unfortunate that it was hard to hate him now. He was handsome, intelligent, being cheated on himself, and seeming to regret having lost her… but not being able to hate him was not comparable to being able to love him. Damn you, Draco Malfoy.

"You really do look amazing tonight, Ginny," he whispered against her hair, "Malfoy's a stupid man to let you get away… I was a stupid man to let you get away…"

Ginny suddenly felt terribly uncomfortable. Harry was just supposed to forget about Hermione a little, be reminded of how there were other women out there. Perhaps even some with less bushy heads. But he was not supposed to start to talk about missing Ginny or regretting losing her because she was not into leading people on. Draco's cool voice flitted through her mind, unbidden, _Then let go of him, Ginevra, and go sit down_.

Well, that settled _that_. She was not listening to Draco anymore, even if he was disguising himself as her conscience.

"Well, everyone has to make their own decisions," Ginny replied diplomatically, offering a smile. Harry's face was closer to hers now than she would have liked, his eyes bright.

"I think I made the wrong one,"

She swallowed sharply and glanced to her left. No Ron and Hermione to save her in that direction. She glanced to her right. No Ron and Hermione but… Her heart stopped, and her breath froze in her lungs. Draco Malfoy was strolling towards them; his blue eyes were anything but cold. They were on fire. His jaw was stubbled, his eyes hard and hot, and his stride was angry. It seemed Draco Malfoy had found some anger too, not just Ginny Weasley. For some unknown reason, she braced herself for him to grab her or say something biting and humiliating, even though his behavior towards her had never been like that.

But her bracing was entirely wrong because Draco Malfoy did not grab her. He grabbed Harry by his shirt and jerked his face towards his. In a true Slytherin hiss, his voice was pure hatred.

"Get your hands off of her, Potter."

Harry looked shocked yet again this evening, but Draco's eyes switched to Ginny. She still couldn't breathe as his hot eyes took in her dress, her mutilation of the beautiful, princess dress he had bought her. She imagined a flicker of pain in them as he let go of Harry and turned towards her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and now Ginny knew that she was not imagining the vulnerability in his eyes. She willed her lungs to work again so she could speak before him, cut him off.

But Harry beat them both.

"Ginny's not yours, Malfoy," Harry spat after a moment to shake off the shock. Draco turned and shocked every bystander there by rocking back his fist and punching Harry straight across the jaw, a prize-winning knockout punch from Satan. As Harry staggered backwards and lost his legs entirely, tumbling to the floor, Draco rubbed his knuckles, smeared with blood, on his pants. He looked like some sort of barbaric warrior; a wizard resorting to his fists instead of his wand, a Malfoy doing so of all people.

"She's nobody's property," he said darkly, turning back to look at her. His eyes met hers, and her knees almost wobbled at the intensity she saw there.

She felt numb and shocked and confused and hurt. All she managed to push through her lips – which were trembling, the traitors – was,

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Draco?"

"You ruined a beautiful dress to whore yourself out to Potter, and I save you, and you ask what the fuck I'm doing?" He retorted, stepping towards her. Her heart skipped like a rock on a pond, thrown by a particularly skillful child.

_Touché_, she thought as she wondered frantically what the hell was happening.

* * *

**AN:** Here's another chapter! I hope this one wasn't too painful. There wasn't much of our favorite Slytherin in it, but don't worry. He'll be in the next one more, though probably not quite the way you think! Let me know what you think. You reading this is silver compared to the gold of you reading AND reviewing. :)


	9. Chapter 9

The silence of the alley outside the bar where Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy had found themselves roared deafeningly in her ears; she had been kicked out of a bar for the second time since she had gotten tangled up with Draco and for the second time in her life. Draco was having extraordinary luck at throwing her entire life for a loop-the-loop, a twisting, turning, tumultuous maneuver that sometimes left her breathless and sometimes nauseous. Right now, she had the extraordinary sensation of being both at the same time. His handsome face, his eyes burning with intensity she could not understand, took her breath away at the same time that the memory of their last day together made her sick to her stomach.

"Look what you have done to that dress, Ginevra," he finally muttered. It sent a pang of anger shooting through her brain that he could even think of the dress after everything that had happened, a dress he had bought her merely in hopes of winning a sleazy bet, a bet which he had won in the end anyway. Go him. Maybe that explained why he gave a damn about the dress but not her. "It was so beautiful and elegant on you before you ruined it."

"A few minor modifications – improvements, you might say," she snarled, feeling grateful for the anger. It could almost balance out the way her heart was pounding in her chest at being so close to him. It may have only been a few days since everything had fallen apart, but she felt a thousand years older than she had standing in his living room confessing her love that Saturday. Even a thousand years older, though, she was enchanted by him, bewitched by the sight, smell, and sound of his presence. She hated him for it and hated herself for it even more.

"You could not improve on that dress. It was perfect for you just the way it was," he doggedly stuck to the subject, no malice in his voice, no ice, but surprisingly none of the cool, calm, unwavering composure either. In fact, his voice was surprisingly flat and lifeless.

"It's just fine like this," she hissed.

"It lacks the class you should want in a dress."

"I don't feel classy tonight. I feel wild."

"Then you could have worn a different dress."

She threw up her hands in complete exasperation. "Why the hell are we talking about my dress? It doesn't matter! It's just a dress! You can buy a thousand more for your next girlfriend!"

He fell silent again, looking at her with those intense eyes, and she felt her emotions rollicking inside of her like a stormy tidal wave, threatening to tear down the walls her heart was working so hard to build. He looked tortured somehow, staring at her in silence, and she did not know what the hell he thought he was doing looking so anguished after he had ruined everything and sent her into a downward spiral only to sweep in and punch the only person willing to dance with a bottomed-out twenty-five year old who was developing a drinking problem. God, she was pathetic.

"Speaking of next girlfriends…" He finally spoke again. There seemed to be a lot of "finally spoke"s in this conversation on his end, and she interrupted caustically.

"Oh, do tell. Is she hot?" Her heart ached in her chest even as her bitter anger lashed out at him.

"That is not what I was going to say. There is no new girlfriend. I need to talk to you, Ginevra," he said slowly. His voice had an odd quality to it, as if he were trying to fake his usual cool manner but was not succeeding. She liked the fact that this did not seem to be easy for him; with how she was suffering, he deserved to suffer more.

"Then talk. I'm standing here, listening, now that you've gotten me kicked out of the bar with my friends," she retorted, thinking of her friends who had probably scurried back into their homes like mice fleeing from a cat sighting. None of them were brave enough to want to deal with this relationship mess; they saw her the same way she had originally seen herself, a girl playing with the devil. They might not suspect how bad it truly was though; they might not understand that somewhere along the line, she had sold him her soul.

"I have been drinking ever since Saturday, after I called the house elves back in to clean up your awful mess. I needed the alcohol to settle me out, to help me think, and I have done a lot of thinking. I know what to do. I thought about everything that happened Saturday, and I know the solution," he was speaking slowly, cautiously, and with an overzealous eagerness as if he was trying to convince himself of whatever he was about to say as well as her. "You said you loved me, felt misled by my so-called 'bad' qualities, and I know that it is not true. You don't love me, Ginevra! You're far too smart to love me. You want someone dependable and honest and scrupulously kind and compassionate. You want someone who will never put you down."

"I would be a terrible real boyfriend, Ginevra. You would realize that you do not love me so fast if we dated; in fact, you would even grow to hate me! That means we simply cannot try that. We get along too well to let something as stupid as dating and thinking we feel things we do not mess us up! We have good conversations and good… physical relations and we make each other smile. There is no reason we can't go right back to how things were… as soon as you realize how much you do not love me, it'll be easy and happy again. I am happy when I spend time with you, Ginevra. Very happy. I want to go back to that without you being silly and thinking you love me. That's just crazy talk. I will split the bet money with you, right now, fifty-fifty, and we will go back to just how things were! We will be back to how it all started without this love nonsense. See, Ginevra? See how that will fix everything?"

His entire speech could have been nothing but genuine; he stammered in places, spoke too fast and then paused too long. He stumbled over words and fidgeted – yes, Draco Malfoy fidgeted – when he said 'love.' The intensity in those eyes made sense now; he was begging, pleading. His tone was groveling even if he himself was not actually physically doing so. He wanted her to come back. But as what? A fake girlfriend. She knew it was impossible; a foolish part of her heart wanted to say yes, but she knew it would only prolong any agony, holding it off to crash upon her ten times worse later. Besides, why on earth did he want her back? He could find a hundred women smarter and just as "good…physically;" if that was all he wanted her for, then why bother with all this? The very thought made her mad; he must just think she was an easy target after everything.

"That will fix nothing," she replied, surprised to hear the cold he seemed incapable of in her voice. He looked surprised too. His eyebrows rose, and his eyes widened, and his face crumpled ever-so-slightly with an emotion she did not recognize. What could make that handsome face look so stricken? What emotion could overshadow the defined cheekbones, strong jaw, and patrician attractiveness? She tilted her head, trying to read it, but it was not until he spoke that she realized its name.

"I know you are very angry with me, Ginevra…"

It was shame. He was ashamed. That was the emotion on his face. A Malfoy… ashamed! Ginny stared at the emotion quite openly once she realized what it was. Why, she could create a circus attraction of that very thing – no one would believe that cold, arrogant Draco Malfoy was capable of feeling ashamed of anything!

"…about what happened on Saturday," he looked down momentarily and then back up. His eyes were still glowing with intensity. "But please try to look at it from my vantage point… there we were, having a great day, and you dropped that stink-spell on it by announcing that you thought you loved me. You, Ginevra Weasley, love me, Draco Malfoy. Now that you have had time to think, you realize how ludicrous that is, of course, but at the time, you believed it and I panicked… I know my behavior was unacceptable, but we can forget about it. I will forget your silly proclamation of love, and you will forget my… terrible behavior." He was speaking clearly now, sounding more Draco-like, a little cooler, a little more confident, but Ginny was not fooled. She had seen it in his eyes; he was ashamed of what he had done, and now he was trying to fix it by acting like it could all be okay between them.

Suddenly, all her anger washed away as she looked at him and replenished itself with horrible sadness instead. He was like a lost little boy, feeling guilt and shame for the first time, maybe even thanks to her influencing compassion while they were together, and she wanted to help him deal with. She really did want to be able to sit down and talk with him about it, hear his opinions, his emotions, his moral issues with what he had done. She would love that insight into the blossoming character growing from the treacherous Malfoy roots. But… she was in love with him. Seeing those blossoming, beautiful growths of character and morals becoming more a part of him would be salt in a festering wound, too painful. She needed distance from him, needed to peel away, not reattach. Reminding herself of what an amazing man he had become – and was still becoming – after the fires and scars of his childhood and upbringing was a very bad idea. Instead, she needed to keep the image of the arrogant, unashamed bastard who slept with her after her proclamation of love. That image was one she could fall out of love with.

"I can't forget your terrible behavior, Draco. Any more than you can forget hearing those three little words," her voice was gentle, almost pitying. "It's over."

It hurt to actually say those words aloud, but she heard herself repeat them and press on, "It's over, and you have to understand that it was supposed to just be a bet. It isn't fair for either of us to act like it is more, even if we confused ourselves by forgetting earlier."

His face grew strangely still and stony. "So now you've gone from mistakenly thinking you loved me to 'It was just a bet.'"

"You reminded me it was that way when those were the first words you had to say to me Saturday."

She watched a swirl of emotions roll through his eyes even as his face seemed immobile and wondered if the emotions were truly there or just reflecting the storm she swore was in her own eyes.

"I guess you had better get back in to Potter then. I suppose his jealousy over our 'bet' will have won him back for you." Ah, finally there was the ice that she knew so well, the icy tone that belied any emotions that might have lurked beneath its surface. She straightened up too, trying to imagine a rod up her back, giving her an iron, unbendable backbone. A backbone like that might keep her from reaching out for him, just for the hope of touching him again in a goodbye hug. The imagined backbone was not enough to keep her from a charitable comment.

"I'm not interested in Harry. Though you rushing in like a madman to save me might have been a little extreme," she tried a little levity. Neither of them laughed, but his voice softened back up again, revealing another crack in the ice where water could bubble through.

"You did not have to sell yourself to Potter for a fun evening. You could have come by the Manor. The door was still open to you even after your little temper tantrum." His attempt at levity fell as flat as hers, but she tried to laugh. The sound was rusty and awkward because all her brain could think sadly was, _The other option was selling myself to you_.

They looked at each other awkwardly; their faces contorted with the unspoken goodbyes on their lips. It was all so confusing, such a nasty mess, that no words seemed right. Here she was, in love with him after a bet gone awry, so in love with him that his presence here, even now, was Reparo to her broken heart. Here he was, obviously seeing something in her that he did not want to lose, something she was incapable of giving because she had broken the very deal she had made, that this relationship was for business, not pleasure. So here they stood, a mess together and a mess apart.

"Come here, Ginevra," he said, another 'finally said' in this conversation. She must have looked confused, and she did not move so he continued, his voice hitting a note of exasperation, "Just come here. I'm not going to bite you."

She obeyed, moving towards him, and he folded her into his arms in a hug. Her face was squished against his shoulder, and his hold was so tight that she had difficulty breathing but she couldn't bring herself to mind. He smelled good, felt good, felt like the man she had come to know and love over the past month, like the man who was her fairy-tale-that-wasn't, the man riding off into the sunset with her heart. She stifled a few tears that wanted to fall; this would be the last time, and though it was good to know that he truly was the man she had fallen in love with, not the man who had treated her so coldly on Saturday, this also hurt terribly. It was stripping her of the bitterness and anger and leaving her with just her heartbreak.

When he let go, he Disapparated without a word.

_Goodbye_.

X

The Ministry's giant binder full of organizations, clubs and wizarding activities was hardly well-organized. It was a dusty tome that was occasionally opened and then a hundred or so flyers were stuffed inside, and it was forgotten again. When she was assigned to organize that essentially useless binder, Ginny remembered again how trivial her role at the Ministry of Magic was. She was barely even a glorified secretary if she had to sit in her cubicle alone and organize a binder that people looked at maybe once a year. She was surprised her boss had even remembered it existed in order to give her the assignment. He only kept her around because he had a thing for redheads, as far as she could tell.

Her shoes, a fabulous pair of electric blue pumps she had bought on a comfort shopping binge, lay on the floor, discarded, her blouse sleeves were rolled up, and her concentration was actually somewhat on her work. It had been a few nights since The Great Goodbye, and Harry was not speaking to her – he seemed to be under the impression that she had somehow planned for that to happen. Imbecile. Draco was not speaking to her either, not that she had tried. They were officially done, she supposed, as sad as that was to think about and cope with. A shopping trip and doing her work had been the two things getting her through because Ron and Hermione were not capable of being any help to anyone while they were still sneaking around behind Harry's back. Add to that her need to avoid her crazy threesome of gossipy co-workers who were always trying to tell her some story that they had heard about Draco and what a bad place he was in… well, her cubicle had started to become a sanctuary of sorts.

Bingbott's Broomstick Brigade. Well, that flyer definitely went in the B section. Vanderleigh's Cabbage Patch. That went in the V's… oh, wait, no it went in the trash because it was not an organization, club or wizarding activity.

It was weird that mindless work was becoming such a comforting activity.

Her eyes widened when they saw the next flyer. "You have got to be kidding me," she murmured, reading it in shock.

**Draco Malfoy Dumpees Support Group**

_Come join us on Wednesday nights at seven._

_Share your story and a good meal with people who understand._

_Room A56 in the Old Showbourne Complex._

The flyer even had a caricature of Draco sitting smugly; the caricature waved at Ginny. In her shock, she waved back unthinkingly. She looked at the date on the flyer. It had been printed a good two years ago at this point. Surely such a thing had been a joke, just a group of friends looking to be funny, and even if it had been real, surely it no longer existed, years later. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was Wednesday, and the little hand on the clock was getting very close to the jubilant Quitting Time label.

Why not put on something jazzy and go out and see what the hell this thing was all about? Why not?

She sure could use a good laugh, and if things worked out, a good cry might not hurt either.

X

It was real.

The Draco Malfoy Dumpees Support Group was real and apparently still thriving even after two years and having been relegated to a musty tome of flyers. She had shown up dressed in what she considered to be appropriate clothes, nothing too dolled up but not looking frumpy or underdressed either. Her green top contrasted beautifully with her loosely curled red hair, her jeans were tight but not too tight, and she had slipped on heels again to give her a little confidence boost. She told herself it was pure curiosity about such a strange group that had made her desire to go, but in reality, she knew it was her interest in the other women's stories… and an interest in seeing how many of them there were.

This particular evening, a hearty, delicious-smelling stew was apparently the dinner, so the seven women – including her – had gotten a bowl, taken seats in an Alcoholics Anonymous-style circle, and started chatting about trivial things. Draco Malfoy had not come up in conversation yet, and Ginny found she was holding her breath waiting for it. She was also holding her breath because it was hard not to say anything sharp to any of these women; they were not her type of people.

"—don't know how I feel about this new job as a photographer for the Daily Prophet," one of the women, whose name was Valerie, had said. She, like many of the women present, was a buxom blonde with long legs, and she was dressed similarly to the other women as well, in nice tailored blouses and trousers, instead of jeans. Ginny definitely smelled of a lower class than these women, with the possible exception of a petite little brunette who was not speaking to anyone and was wearing sweatpants. The others mostly ignored her, Ginny noticed, while being very polite to their newcomer, probably just because they were interested in hearing her story.

"You'll be great, Valerie. You always are, and besides, it is not like you need the money," A woman named Brenda replied in a husky I-have-smoked-too-many-cigarettes-in-my-life purr.

"Very true," Valerie uncrossed her long legs, a strangely business-like gesture from a woman who was obviously a millionaire dabbling in work just for fun. "Well… now that we have chitchatted and eaten, it is time to get down to our main order of business. We need to discuss why we're here, and who better to start with than Ms. Weasley? I am certain we are all interested in hearing her story, considering… what we have heard."

Ginny gulped; she knew that she and Draco's relationship, though private between them, had been wildly speculated on by any number of people. Sometimes coming out of Kniltholder's, she had spotted someone snapping a picture, perhaps for a trashy tabloid that gave a damn about "The Wizarding World's Sexiest Bachelor," or even occasionally for the gossip section of the Daily Prophet, written by none other than the recently-returned Rita Skeeter. She had predicted true love and eternal bliss for the couple, as a matter of fact. God only knew what these women, women who obviously had an extensive emotional and psychological issue with Draco Malfoy, thought they knew about the relationship.

"What exactly have you heard?" Ginny tried, flashing a sweet smile.

"Oh, darling, we would never spread vicious gossip to you. We will just wait to hear it straight from you," Brenda echoed with an equally false and equally saccharine smile. Ginny cursed silently in her head and glanced around again. Why had she come here? She should have known she would have to talk, and she didn't want to. She wanted to hear their stories, not spill her own story. Especially since there was no way she could tell the truth about her story. It was far too shameful on so many different levels, and it was far too private.

"There is no reason to be shy. That is what this group is for," Valerie reassured, but her eyes had no warmth and offering of help. Ginny realized suddenly that these women did not like her; they saw her as an enemy, and she had no idea why.

"Well… we went to Hogwarts together, so we knew each other from then, and we reconnected – well, sort of connected for the first time – over a month ago, and we went to dinner, and it was just… a good idea. We got along well and decided to give it a try. Then it no longer worked out, so… here I am," Ginny's words tumbled out, such a gross understatement that they practically became a lie. She hated the sound of them; how dare she even make it seem that blasé and nonchalant? It had been an epic for both of them.

"A month? I did not realize it had been so long…" Valerie frowned petulantly.

"That's really not very long. Harry and I dated for years."

"I dated Draco for two weeks," Valerie replied curtly.

"Four days."

"Two days."

"Six dates but no official relationship."

The chorus of replies were all short numbers, and they were also accompanied by a certain snobbishness of tone that plainly stated, though it was never said, "And I am of higher class than you so I was worth longer." Even sweatpants girl employed that tone, which Ginny really considered offensive.

Ginny felt pretty proud of her month now, and she wished she could tell them more, now that they had slipped back into conversation amongst themselves. She wished she could tell them how many nights they had shared a bed, laughing and talking and playing, not having sex. She wished she could tell them that it had been an awful "breakup" on both sides and that both of their hearts were broken in a way, just for different reasons. She wanted to exert her dominance over these beautiful wealthy women, not because they were beautiful and wealthy but because they dared to believe they had more of a right to Draco than she did. Jealousy and pettiness reared their ugly heads with pig-shaped noses, and she contained them but enjoyed their presence. It was good to know she thought herself good enough for the legendary Draco Malfoy.

"If only he could bring a girl home to the Manor instead of the furnished flat he keeps for dating purposes…" Brenda sighed a lustful sigh.

"What?" Ginny said, taken aback.

"Well, Ginny darling, you didn't think you were the only one excluded from the Manor, did you?" Brenda giggled, a laugh so husky from cigarettes that it resembled a cough more than a giggle. "Draco never brings women to the family estate. It is the Holy Grail of dating him, if you get to see the Manor."

Ginny stewed this thought over, sitting back in her chair, putting a hand under her chin thoughtfully. She remembered their second date, dinner at the Manor, served by Draco Malfoy himself at a cozy intimate table. Surely these women were wrong about the significance of the Manor.

Then Ginny felt the same sensation she had felt one fateful Saturday not too long ago. A realization was coming to her from somewhere very far back in her head and heart. She waited for it while a barrage of images hit her.

Draco, chuckling in her office and talking about a bet he had made with friends. Draco, buying her a beautiful dress and paying her compliments. Draco, acting captivated by her body, counting orgasms as a means of enjoyment. Draco, letting her pick whatever color of paint she wanted for the living room in the manor. Draco, letting her dismiss the house elves for the evening. Draco, drinking and confessing his darkest secret to her. Draco, fearfully holding her while she cried. Draco, punching her ex-boyfriend for touching her.

Draco, begging her to come back to him in an alley. Draco, stumbling and stubbled and desperate, pleading with her to be a part of his life.

The realization arrived in a flash of color and pomp and circumstance, landing in her mind like a much-awaited savior.

Draco Malfoy loved her.

She was suddenly more sure of it than she had ever been of anything in her life. He might not know it; perhaps his realization hadn't come. But it was true. No man could seem that in love, that blissfully content with a relationship and that desperately upset when it ended, unless it was true. A smile curved onto her lips. He had not begged her to come back for sex or friendship or anything else; he had asked for love.

How could she have expected him to know it? He didn't know how to love; no one had ever taught him. But without any lessons, he had managed it, like the child who thinks he needs his parents' steadying hand on his bike even though they let go about thirty seconds ago. He had not realized it yet, but he was in love with her.

Draco Malfoy loved her, and suddenly the world looked a lot brighter.

_Thank you, Draco Malfoy Dumpees Support Group. You're all idiots, and that's why he fell in love with me._

Ginny stood right up and marched out of the room without a word, leaving behind the surprised, disapproving rich bitches to go have a celebratory glass of wine, instead of a drown-your-sorrows one.

* * *

**AN: **Thank you, thank you, guys, for your reviews and story alerts! I love your feedback. I would like to apologize for any typos and such in this chapter (and others). I don't have a Beta because I have had bad luck with them in the past, and I work full-time and have a social life so my time gets pulled in many directions. So just bear with them and enjoy the story! Let me know what you think of this latest chapter. Thanks. :)


	10. Chapter 10

She had spent enough time with the devil at this point for some of it to rub off. You cannot fall in love with him without that happening. So, Future Miss Devil Malfoy herself knew exactly what she was going to do. Without changing her clothes or touching her hair, she had sat on her couch, sipped a glass of wine and concocted her course of behavior. It was a flawless, brilliant, cruel plan – one which she would come clean about later but that right now was the only way to avoid additional unnecessary pain, trauma and waiting on her part. He deserved a little pain; he was a Malfoy. So her diabolical plan, which was born of the crazy love that had taken root inside of them both, was going into motion… as soon as she could find where she had set her wand and Apparate over to the Manor.

That took a while; when she had gotten home from the support group, she had tossed her wand and handbag haphazardly and danced her way to the kitchen for a bottle of wine, humming "Let's Give Them Something to Talk About." A display like that made finding the wand later a little trickier than necessary, but finally, she had the wand in hand, fluffed her hair once and Apparated to Malfoy Manor. She was delighted but not surprised to find that she was still looped into the charm; it heartened her to know that he still had his door open for her. She arrived in the Manor, not even bothering to Apparate outside and ring the bell. One of the house elves, a lithe delicate pink-pillowcase-wearing elf, smiled up at her.

"Hi Miss Weasley," she whispered, "It's good to see you back. He's in the living room."

"Thank you," she whispered back as the elf scurried away, a smile twitching at her lips. A woman without the security she had suddenly come up with might have been concerned that there was another woman in the Manor, but she knew better. He would be alone, probably drinking a glass of Scotch and reading a book. She walked down the hall, letting her heels click and turned the corner into the living room, repeating this mantra silently in her head: _We are in love. Just got to show him that. We are in love. Just got to show him that._

The mantra got interrupted for a split second when she saw the living room, however, and was replaced by a wave of sudden, exquisite happiness. The walls were rich terracotta red, and there was all new furniture to match, rich yellow fabric that made the whole room seem so warm and inviting. It was also strangely Gryffindor, in a very subtle way, not that Draco would think of that. The thing he had done was paint the room the color she had picked out that awful Saturday. She imagined him in those work clothes, scraping and painting the walls and dragging the furniture in and thinking of her. This is what he had done while she drank away her sorrow; he had continued designing his home the way she liked it. How had he not yet realized what all this meant about them?

He was sitting on the couch, smiling at a novel he was reading, with – as she had predicted – a tumbler of Scotch beside him. It looked mostly untouched, but it was still there. He looked up when she walked in with an expression that mingled shock and a strange sort of happiness.

"Ginevra, did anyone ever tell you that it is incredibly rude not to knock when you enter someone else's home?" He drawled, raising an eyebrow. She could tell he was not stretching for that tone; it was easier to fall into the "normal" banter when they were both here in this house where so much of their love had been made, though not in the typical making-love sense.

"I was raised in a Burrow, as you have reminded me a hundred times," she retorted, unable to avoid a smile creeping onto her face.

"True. Now, have you come to sit down and spend some time with me, or is this some sort of business visit?" Oh, his voice was cold as ice now. He was obviously still very offended by her claiming that they were not supposed to be any more than a deal made between enemies.

"I came to… talk to you. About our conversation in the alley," she replied, forcing herself to shift as if uncomfortable. She was no actress, but this part still needed to be played just right. He needed to believe that she had changed her mind from the other night, not that she was trying to change his.

He looked intrigued and motioned for her to sit down on the opposite end of the couch. She followed his guiding motion and sat down. The new couch was comfortable, cozy, and she had to fight the urge to smile again just because if things went as they probably would, she would get to spend many a night sitting on this couch just like this.

"Go ahead, Ginevra," he prompted.

She breathed in slowly. "You're right. It is silly to think that I love you – how could I? But we are good friends and we are happy… together, and we should just do it that way. Friends with benefits, if you will. Not that you worded it that way because you're more eloquent than I am, but…" Now she swallowed sharply, but the swallow was real, though it was not due to nervousness; instead, it was actually because she found it repugnant to say the words 'friends with benefits' about their crazy but strangely deep relationship.

Draco looked strangely strangled now, though, a muscle in his jaw tight. She recognized the conflict in his eyes, one that indicated he felt that he should smile and be thrilled with what she said but was bothered anyway. "I did not say friends with benefits because that is a crass and ill-fitting label."

"Well… it's the label that fits but… focus on what I'm saying, Draco," she replied, putting a false but hopefully genuine-looking smile. It must have been real enough because the kind of Draco smirk that sometimes passed for a smile suddenly appeared on his lips.

"You are saying you're back," he echoed. She nodded. Draco's eyes were on hers for a long moment, and she felt the heat rise from her toes straight up through her entire body until it seared her heart and then her brain. She didn't even have time to truly register the intensity of the heat in his pale eyes before he was coming across the couch to her, all in an instant. He crushed his mouth to hers, crushed her body under his. He kissed her mouth and touched her soul; the kiss was tender, passionate, ecstatic and exuberant all at once. He kissed her like she was a goddess, and she lost all sense of the acting game she had planned on playing, the game of being aloof and like he had been the night she had confessed her love, and lost herself in his kiss.

He leaned back, truly smiling now, lips curved with still a trace of a smirk. "Welcome back, Ginny."

They tumbled into another kiss, but this one was less tender… instead, it was fiercely sexual, toe-curling and goosebump-inducing. Ginny Weasley suddenly knew she was going to have sex with Draco Malfoy again. Screw being aloof first. Screw acting to lead him to a realization. Screw everything except this moment and getting making love right tonight.

X

This time when Draco Malfoy laid her down to the bed, hot lips smothering hers, there was no coldness. In fact, when she banged her elbow on the bed post, they both laughed into the kiss and broke it off still laughing, hands twined, naked bodies against one another. "Ouch!" She admonished through her giggling. "You smashed my elbow against that hard wooden post and you think it's funny!"

He was laughing too. "I'll make it up to you, Ginevra, as soon as I catch my breath from the hilarity of how inelegant this is turning out to be," he chuckled. Suddenly, she managed to stall her laughing and just smile at him.

"I don't want elegance in my sex with you, thank you very much," she retorted playfully. "I want inelegance. Hot, sweaty, orgasmic inelegance."

He chose not to respond with words. Instead he just kissed her again, another breathless and dizzying kiss, and they let skin slide on skin and let the laughter subside – for now – and be replaced by nothing but the sound of their breathing. She touched him with hungry hands, and he kissed her with hungry lips, and they moved slowly, no rushing or pushing. Her fingers trailed along the refined muscles of his back, drinking it in as a blissful reminder of what and who she had been missing since they separated, and her lower lip reveled in being nipped by his teeth. He held her hips under his hands, fingertips sinking into the soft, giving flesh, and they both smiled again into their kiss, lips curved upward even as they kissed.

When his hand slid low, gently, he still did not rush. He stroked circles on her thighs, caressed closer and closer to where her body was suddenly pleading for him to touch. Nothing could have distracted her from him in a moment like this… not even the fact that she was letting the plan to be distant and cold like he had been on The Saturday fall to the wayside. Somehow, this was more important than that. Even if this did not immediately drag a realization of love from him, it was right to be here, reveling in that love he did not yet realize. He touched where she was most sensitive, lightly, and then suddenly he was taking her with his hand, pushing and sliding his fingers. She closed her eyes, bit her lower lip, rocked her hips into him, moaned, and suddenly he stopped.

Opening her eyes, she saw that he was frozen with a look of strange surprise on his face. "Don't moan like that if you want this foreplay to last more than a few seconds…" He whispered, arousal almost too intense to bear spelled out on his aristocratic features. She shook her head.

"I won't moan again," she replied, voice husky from the pleasure still rippling through her. The foreplay was worth it, worth the wait and the effort not to moan. His hands felt too good to give up just yet; they played her like a piano they knew oh-so-well, and she loved it. He returned to his delicious work, and the melody he was stroking out soared until another moan escaped, another throaty, rich, passionate moan. True to his word, his fingers slid away.

There were a million things he could have said as he moved his body over hers and looked into her eyes that could have ruined the moment, things that could have been reminiscent of the last time that was so wrong, but he chose none of them. Instead, he spoke quietly and sincerely, "I need you, Ginny." His voice, deep and genuine, was not speaking about sexually, though the need there was apparent too. No, his tone was clear. He needed her. In his life. She tilted her lips up to catch his, and he pushed his hips down to enter her in the same joyous moment.

Like a classical pianist on an elegant grand piano, Draco moved against her, hands on her hips, eyes on hers, and he made the sound of their breathing, the thump of their heartbeats, the rush of their skin into a symphonic masterpiece with her. Together, they composed it with each rise and fall of their bodies, like keys on a piano, vibrating against each other like the strands of a string instrument. With understanding eyes, they tried every chord and note imaginable without ruining it with unnecessary words; her climax came strong and sure, but he did not falter, continuing to carry her with him on this pleasurable journey. Finally, when she was on top, legs pressed into the bed on either side of his hips, hands braced against his strong shoulders, hair in a tumble around her face, she took him to the top, thrusting against him until he went weak beneath her in blissful release. Then she too fell spent onto him, lying on his chest.

They breathed hard, they lay together, and he slid his arms back around her and held her tight. His lips moved against her hair, whispering something she could not hear over her own heartbeat. In fact, peaceful happiness was starting to fill her so completely that she felt her eyes drooping shut. With his arms around her and his heart beating beneath her, she fell asleep to sweet, sweet dreams.

X

Waking up in the arms of the man you love is usually a wonderful sensation, but it is tempered a bit when you wake up and realize that your entire lower body, ass-cheeks to legs, is asleep from having not moved for almost eight hours. If this pin-pricking, nagging, cactus-poking curse was not enough, Ginevra Weasley had it combined with an unfortunate realization that she had woken up over an hour late for work, unshowered and with sleepy limbs. This meant there was little to no chance she was making it into the office for dead-end work today, which was not entirely upsetting but did mean that she was going to be given very nasty looks when she did go back to the office the next day. Draco was still asleep, too, when she first opened her eyes. He looked supremely human, conked out on his back with his mouth open and the slightest hint of a snore; she tried to decide if that was a turn-off.

It wasn't. Even a Draco Malfoy snore was sexier than anything another man had to offer. It was no wonder he had once been on that magazine cover.

She tried to focus on the exquisite sexiness he possessed, even though his current position was not his most flattering, but even that was not enough to distract her from the extraordinary pain of the pins and needles in her sleeping legs. So, she cautiously scooted herself sideways away from Draco to put her tingling feet on the floor. _Upsy-daisy, Ginny-girl,_ she told herself as she wrapped the sheet around herself, leaving Draco naked, exposed and likely a bit chilly on his bed. In her toga-sheet, she attempted to put her weight on her legs, but they were not interested in waking up for the job of walking. Her first step: wobbly. Her second step: shaky. Her third step: no better. Her fourth step: did not happen because she toppled over in a dramatic crash.

She squeaked as she hit the floor.

"Ginevra, I have no interest in waking up to this chaos," Draco mumbled sleepily from the bed, one eye opening lazily. "Come back to bed until you have learned to walk to the loo more elusively." He extended a hand as if to help her to her feet, even though the hand was just hanging haphazardly over the side of the bed and was nowhere close to reaching her. She shimmy-crawled her way back to the bed and hauled herself back into bed without using her legs.

"I'm like Lieutenant Dan," she informed Draco.

"That's nice, love," he murmured, burying his head in the pillow.

"Do you even know who Lieutenant Dan is?"

"I am sleeping."

"You're replying."

"You are a child. Go back to sleep."

She partially obliged, curling back into him and tucking her nose into his neck to just lay and cuddle until he woke up more. She had been on the receiving end enough to know not to push her luck too much; he was not a morning person. Besides, the smell of him after last night's sex was so natural and organic that it made her perfectly content to just lay against him in silence until he was ready to tolerate her muggle movie references. Finally, he stirred again, turning to his side, propping himself on one elbow and looking down at her. She grinned up at him, but he didn't grin back. In fact, he looked slightly green.

"Draco, you look sick," she said cautiously. He did not respond or move at all. "Draco?"

"I went into a downward spiral when you left. I realized I couldn't function without you. I don't mind your morning breath or your muggle-loving or your weird habit of putting too much sugar in your tea," he was speaking in a strangely quiet voice as if to himself. He pressed on in the same voice. "I cannot imagine what I would do if you ever left, and I think I would just follow you if you did. I redesigned my house for you so that my living room was fucking Gryffindor colors. I had the best sex of my life with you last night, and you didn't even pull any acrobatic moves. I do not care that you are not a model. I would rather have your slightly jiggly thighs than a rock-hard set any day; you turn me on way more. I even ate dinner with your family and do not care that you have seen my mother. My God, I am even saying all these nice things to you before my morning cup of coffee." He paused and looked at her intently. Now he seemed to be speaking to her. "I must love you. I do. I do love you."

If he expected Ginny to be surprised like him, his expectation was not being met. Instead, she made a face and said, "That's why you look sick? Because you love me?" She fought the smile that wanted to twitch at the corners of her mouth.

He shook his head. "No, I look sick because I love you and I almost fucking lost you because I was too stupid to realize it," he replied seriously. Ginny looked at him and could see that was indeed the truth. That was the reason for the I'm-about-to-vomit expression on his face; the realization that he had almost lost her, not the realization that he loved her. She smiled, a smile that brought happy tears to her eyes. She should have been ashamed of them, but she wasn't. He smiled back.

"You mean it, right? Because I lied last night… I do love you. I love you so much even though you're a stupid, rich, snobby, Slytherin bastard."

"I mean it. Even though you're a low-class, foul-mouthed, Gryffindor bitch. Oh and manipulative. I forgot to add manipulative after that stunt you pulled last night."

Their eyes met, and they both kept smiling. He reached up to wipe away one of the tears from her cheek; he held the drop on his finger, taking care not to spill it, and then wiped it on her nose. She chuckled tearily.

"Why are you crying, Ginevra? Is it because you've realized that now that you know that I am capable of love I will have to kill you?" He teased, smirking.

"No, I'm crying because I've realized the fate is much, much worse than that."

"How much worse?"

"I'll have to marry you."

Suddenly his voice grew very, very tender. "Yes, Ginny, you will."

Maybe she was wrong, but Ginny thought she saw some mist in his eyes too. She tilted her head; nope, she was wrong. No mist but definite sincerity, which was all the better. The devil didn't cry.

He pulled her in for a kiss, and she wondered how she had gotten here, in love with a man who was not the man of her dreams, a man who instead was something much stranger, much more wonderful and much more real. He was the man who she wanted to spend all her waking moments with; who gave a damn about dream man?

This was what she wanted. Draco Malfoy, a real live Satan with the heart of a very wicked saint.

She broke the kiss to add something very important:

"You still owe me half of the bet money, Lucifer. When I make a deal with the devil, I expect to come out on top."

Of course, Draco added a zinger of his own:

"Come out on top? Why, Ginevra, I believe you did that very thing just last night."

* * *

**AN:** Well, my lovely readers, as you can see, very little remains to be written. I just have a little epilogue to write up to tie up some loose ends and give that satisfaction that I believe only a fun epilogue can bring. I hope you enjoyed the final true chapter of this tale of Draco and Ginny, and if you have not reviewed along the way, this last chapter is definitely an excellent time to tell me what you thought of it all. I love the feedback. Thak you all so much for reading!


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

On their tenth anniversary, Ginny had given him a strangely-shaped piece of purple candy, claiming it could make all of his fantasies come true. Draco was fairly used to her lunacy at that point in the relationship, so he obligingly stuck the strange little concoction in the underwear drawer, gave her a kiss, and asked her if she would just have uninterrupted sex with him for their anniversary. She agreed enthusiastically, and they enjoyed an entire evening of playtime for grown-ups while the children spent the night with Gram and Pop at the Burrow. That was three years ago, approximately.

Today, Draco had woken up and gotten dressed for work, all business in his suit and tie. He tripped twice on the stairs over toys, one of which was a wet, soapy rubber duck that nearly caused a wipeout, and he got down to the kitchen to find that only one of the house elves had been kindly given the day off so there was no coffee. He frowned his way through a glass of milk, glared at a trail of crumbs on the floor, and slunk off to work in a very foul mood indeed. While he understood that days off were good for house elves and that being up at the crack of dawn was unnecessary, he did wish Ginny had gotten up to make him a pot of coffee.

At the office, he meandered through nasty piles of paperwork, listened to complaints from customers who were claiming his services came too pricey, and found that his personal bathroom was flooded. What good did it do to be the CEO of a high-profile public relations and marketing firm if no one would fix your bathroom when the toilet over-flowed? By the end of the day, his hair was mussed, his frown a permanent facial fixture, and his feet hurt from walking back and forth to maintenance to demand toilet support. The Manor was a welcoming sight when he finally returned that evening, but upon Apparating into the front door, he was greeted by silence.

"Nobody thought to be home for me," he muttered grouchily and walked into the empty kitchen. He was making himself a sandwich when he spotted them through the window in the yard. The picnic table back there, one of the many Manor additions over the years, was laden with dinner that his wife must have busted her ass to make with all the kids home and no house elves to help. He spotted a big pot that he suspected contained French Onion soup, his favorite. Gratitude surged through him in a sudden wave, accompanied by shame for ever thinking a negative thought when he entered his home.

Ginny was wearing a green sundress, with thin straps and low enough to make his heart do a funny jump in his chest even after all this time but high-cut enough and long enough to be mommy-appropriate. She was chasing two-and-a-half-year-old Kyan – a result of their uninterrupted tenth anniversary sex – around the table as he brandished a large serving spoon that his father recognized as a piece of the family-crested heirloom silver. Even through the window, Draco could see the tell-tale Malfoy smirk on the lad's face. Five-year-old Glorianna was seated at the table organizing the silverware; she was a little lady, with her mum's fiery hair but refined manners that matched neither of her parents. Then there was seven-year-old Julius, sitting under the tree with a portable wizard's chess set, lip tucked between his teeth, forehead furrowed as he concentrated. The eldest Malfoy child's life goal was to beat his father at their favorite game. Julius had his father's eyes under his father's blonde hair and above his father's aristocratic features.

In fact, Draco remembered when Julius was born, how Ginny had looked at the baby in utter surprise and said, "Was I even there for making him? He looks just like you!" He had been bursting with pride; that first moment of fatherhood, a moment much more sharp, vivid and intense than any he had experienced through his wife's pregnancy, had made him suddenly certain that he would never be his father. The fears that had haunted him since they first slipped wedding bands on each other's fingers vanished. He knew that he would be a father of hugs and kisses and games. He would be a father who knew how to love because he was married to the very woman who had taught him how.

He left his sandwich fixings on the counter and headed for that backyard scene, but then he paused. He remembered what an awful day he'd had, he remembered the tripping on the stairs and the clogged work toilet, and he looked back out at his family in the backyard, smiling and playing. He remembered the strangely shaped piece of purple candy his wife had claimed could give him any fantasy he wanted. Thinking of that, he walked upstairs – dodging the toys – and fished it out of his underwear drawer. It looked wicked in his hand, like a temptation to see what else he could have.

Tucking it in his fist, he strode back down the stairs, out the back door and into the backyard. Ginny's face lit up when she saw him, and she outstretched her arms to him, smelling like home cooking and motherhood and yet still like the firecracker who had battled his seduction so long ago. He tucked her into his arms, kissed the top of her head and whispered, "I had a shitty day."

"Tell me all about it tonight once we put the kids to bed?" She replied, and his lips curved into a smile against her hair. That was the perfect thing to say. She wasn't rushing him to spit out a brief summary of his day right now and get to the family. She was going to wait until he could talk as long as he wanted. He kissed her head again and took a step back to look at her. He fished into his pocket and pulled out the candy.

"If I ate this, would this fix my toilet at work?" He demanded. She looked bemused, and the kids, who had all jumped up when Daddy got home, looked confused.

"Yes. It would fix your toilet at work," she chuckled. Her laughter would not bother him. She had no idea how much he had wanted to be able to use his own personal bathroom today instead of the cretin-filled regular bathroom. He opened his mouth, popped the candy in, and sucked. It tasted like grape Coca-Cola with an occasional pop like orange juice, not a particularly pleasant flavor, but he persisted as it quickly shrank to nothing in his mouth. He just prayed the wish he made had come true.

"You really just wasted that on fixing a toilet? It could do anything!" She admonished, shaking her head. The corners of her mouth twitched with amusement though at his puckered facial expression from the candy's unfortunate flavor.

Draco gave her what he hoped was his trademark 'Hush, loony woman' look and replied, "Do I look like I want world domination? I just want a damn toilet that works."

"Damn! Damn! Damn!" Kyan echoed proudly, using his toddler senses to quickly assess which word in that sentence he should not repeat and doing it anyway.

"Don't say that, Ky," Glori said quietly, and Julius tugged lightly at her red ponytail.

"You're not Mom, Glori, so quit telling him what to do!"

Draco saw the need for parental interference had begun about thirty seconds ago and quickly scooped Kyan up onto his shoulders and caught the two older children's gazes.

"You kids didn't really make this dinner for me all by yourselves, did you?" He asked with a wicked twinkle in his eyes that he knew only Ginny would understand.

"Yeah!" Kyan shouted, triumphantly throwing his small fists in the air.

"Mum did most of it, but we helped where we could," Julius qualified with an impish grin. "Which meant I made the French Onion soup almost all by myself. She just did the magic parts!"

"I set everything up on the table before Ky messed it up," Glori said.

"Well, you all did a fantastic job as far as how it _looks_, but how's it going to taste?" He teased.

"Great!" All three children chorused together. The family clambered to get plates and everything together. Draco getting a small plate for Kyan while Ginny ladled the hot soup out for the two older children. Once everyone had a plate, they sat down to eat. The kids had not told their father a lie; it was all delicious. But as Draco looked at his quietly smiling wife, he suspected he had no one but her to truly thank for that. Sometimes he thought he had no one but her to truly thank for anything.

"You might have had a bad day, but you must be having a pretty good life when you're willing to waste something like that piece of candy on a clogged toilet," Ginny teased, blowing on Glori's spoonful of soup for her. Draco watched her administering motherly cares like it was the easiest thing in the world without ever losing her focus on their conversation. She was awfully angelic for someone who did such naughty things in bed.

"I don't need anything else," he said sincerely, looking around. There might be toys on the stairs, little to no time for sex and private conversation, and his wife may be distinctly softer all over than she was before three children popped out of her, but there were hugs and kisses, Malfoy Manor looked like a fairy-tale home, and every night, he crawled into bed next to the one woman who had made his whole life worthwhile.

When he thought of the thousands of Galleons his friends had paid him in that bet to sleep with Ginny so long ago, he always smiled. He should have paid them because without them, he never would have gotten here.

He was a reformed devil with three kids and wife who hadn't given up on blowjobs after over a decade.

And now his toilet wasn't even clogged. What a happily ever after.

He leaned over and kissed Ginny's cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replied with a smile.

And didn't that just say it all?

* * *

**AN**: That is the very end, my friends. A little epilogue from Draco instead of Ginny. Leave me one last review. :)


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